Sorrow's Starlight
by Novelette Consonance
Summary: After devoting the past ten years to caring for her mother, Charlotte can't remember what it is to live for herself. When her mother dies, grief thrusts her into a world where elves believe she's the key to repelling the darkness that's stealing realms, and she's forced to work alongside the cold Elvenking. Getting to know Thranduil forces her to choose: her past or their future?
1. The Weeping Soul

The press of souls pushed her to turn around and abandon her insane quest. Their grief was thick and heady. She felt suffocated and dizzy with it and clasped her robes tighter. This would be a terrible place to fall. She would not die from it, but her brother would worry more, and he already fussed over her too much for her liking.

Of course, that fussing served her in moments such as these. His concern led to her presence in the sacred Awaiting Halls, the legendary Halls of Mandos.

"Go, little sister." A thick hand settled at the base of her ribs. Her brother, Námo, stood slightly behind her, clothed in his usual flowing robes. His silver eyes peered at her from beneath the dark fringe of hair that swept across his broad forehead. For a moment, she watched them soften as he took in her disheveled appearance. "Onwards, brave Nienna," he whispered, his lips twitching into a gentle smile only she ever got to see. "The grief of the world pains you. Let this be my gift to you."

It was true, Nienna thought, as she took the first of the stone steps that spiraled deep in the belly of Arda. The War of The Last Alliance had wrecked her spirit. Souls fleeing to her brother's halls from the war in Middle Earth had near-overwhelmed her with their despair, and far worse was the grief of those who still lived and carried their agony each day in life. In her misery, Nienna dismissed her handmaids, for she could not bear their thoughts, their touch, their souls as they grated against her wounded spirit. For weeks, her aching soul spilled over her lashes, and she wasted and began to fade. Eventually, she would have recovered. She could not truly fade as the elves of the east often did in their grief, but her brother summoned her to his halls.

His intention had been to sequester her within his home to expedite her healing. Perhaps a stay in his stone palace with his walls of polished jet-stone and salt-water breezes would have improved her strength. However, Námo had not accounted for his wife's tapestries.

Hundreds of Vairë's stunning compositions depicting the history of the world draped between the columns that lined the entry hall to his keep on the northern cliffs of Valinor. She already weaved the tapestries through the entirety of the Third Age, past the present and into the future. There was little joy or hope in the strands that formed the fate of Middle Earth. Bursts of death wove through the strands of suffering and hopelessness. Thousands of men and elves would join her brother's halls before the end of the age. The grief she would add to the burden of the last war she already endured…

"The path has been set," Vairë said when Nienna broke her self-imposed silence to question her brother's wife. "When Isildur fell to the power of the Ring, he trapped Middle Earth in this fate." Her dainty fingers, so used to dancing between the threads of time on her loom, gripped Nienna's shrouded shoulders. "My heart weeps for them, as it does for you. I wish I could spare you this pain, but I am merely the chronicler, and I cannot alter the course of the world. I am as shackled to my task as you are, Lady of Grief and Sorrow."

Her words presented a sympathetic character, but Nienna could detect the truth that lurked beneath. Vairë's soul was gleeful at the strain inflicted upon her husband's cherished sister.

Even Námo seemed to sense the malicious twisting of his wife's spirit, and he dismissed her before guiding Nienna further into his halls. Her mind was scrambling. She could not suffer what she had seen in the tapestries of the future. She would not permit Middle Earth to succumb so fully to wickedness again, and so she plotted.

"How can I ease your soul, little sister?" Her brother asked as he led her along the stone walkway between the main halls and the tower that housed the Hall of Souls. Stars glimmered behind the soaring jet-black tower set on the Cliff of the Dead, the Northernmost point of Valinor, and it's sight inspired her scheme.

"So many have departed to your halls, brother." Grief wavered her voice. "Their pain cripples me, as does that of their loved ones."

"I have seen it." His hand smoothed her golden waves back from her face. "Your light fades. I have never seen you so diminished. Please, give me hope that I may see brightness illuminate you once more."

Nienna let her cheek drift into the warmth of his palm. "Hope, brother. My soul aches for it. Amidst so much misfortune and pain, I seek courage and hope to temper the darkness."

Her brother's brows furrowed, his eyes considering the ocean beyond the cliff. "What hope can I give you? Ask it of me, and it shall be yours, I swear it."

Nienna kept her face blank, suppressing the feeling of victory as she said, "I ask for a soul. One of my selection from your halls to do with as I please."

His heavy robes, a deep plum in the gloom, could not hide his sagging shoulders. "I cannot gift you this, sister. All souls must await judgment before rebirth."

"You swore to me," she insisted and placed her hand over the one resting at her cheek. "While I cannot ease the grief of the suffering already endured, let me wield my full gift. Let me bestow pity, as is my right, on a soul that speaks to me of its courage."

His silver eyes pinched, and he heaved a great sigh. He could see no other recourse. "I have given my word, sister. If you do not concede to request a different gift, I caution you to choose with wisdom."

"That I have in abundance, brother." Her small smile was in contrast to the near-constant tears shimmering at the base of her full lashes. "For there is no better teacher than grief and sorrow."

With his vow, she found herself within the Tower of Souls, hesitating on the first step that would alter the future of Middle Earth. Even now, she could feel another soul in Middle Earth fade to grief, and the haunting lament from its loved ones rose and fell in time with her heartbeat. She would not see such suffering again, not after the destruction Sauron had wrought in Middle Earth so recently. With her brother's urging, she delved deep into the caverns to find the soul she knew she needed.

Námo sensed her determination and commented, "You have already decided."

She nodded and reached out to run her pale fingers along the smooth black walls. She only hoped the elf she sought would be willing to take on the task and chance she offered. "There is one who calls to me constantly. I feel his regret and sorrow strongly."

"As you feel the regret and sorrow of them all."

"And yet he is the only one who saves no sorrow for himself."

They rounded the corner together, and she paused to view the majesty that no other besides her brother had glimpsed. The inside of the tower was far more extensive than it's outside hinted at. Even with her gifted sight, she could barely make out the opposite side of the circular hollow. Part of her blindness was owed to the absence of light. The tower had a singular light source: great curves of glass that branched into the darkness from the ceiling like the roots of Telperion, The White Tree of the Two Trees of Valinor. At the base of each, a single droplet of Silpion, the dew from the Telperion's flowers, shone radiantly white, illuminating the entire length with soft echoes of its glow.

"Does the light reach the bottom?" Nienna asked as she scanned the walls for the soul she sought.

He grunted. "It reaches as far as it dares. There are souls even I do not risk disturbing. Souls from before our time and souls that have been doomed to remain in these halls for eternity."

Even now, she could see the weight of responsibility settle across his brow and shoulders. The task of guarding the souls of the world and measuring their worth was as much a burden as carrying their lifetime of grief and sorrow. Still, she did not envy his authority over the souls in the depths of the pit. She leaned briefly over the open walkway to stare into the abyss. The fathoms of empty space were so dark, her eyes tricked her into seeing a fuzzy spot of white in the center. She blinked twice, and it was gone.

"How far down are the souls from the end of the Last Alliance?"

"Not much farther." His hand ushered her onward again. "Depending on who you seek. That particular time covers multiple floors."

"I have no doubt of that."

Her stomach still twisted in horror. Souls were stored in small pockets in the wall as if Námo had scooped the dark rock out with his hands to create a shelf for each being. Hundreds of these covered the wall on each floor, much like a honeycomb in a hive. She had felt all the agony and death throughout the war, but seeing the abundance of souls cataloged in the black stone was shocking.

They passed hundreds, winding down floor after floor before they grew close to those of the Last Alliance. It became colder the further they went, and the salt-water smell from the ocean beyond the walls turned musty instead. The souls she passed were an amalgamation of colors. Some were vibrant white, others a muted grey, and she even spotted a few edged in black.

They traveled in silence, only broken by Námo's occasional brief comment on the particular event in history from which the souls had come. Ten floors below the surface, her brother whispered, "Here lie the souls from Dagorlad."

Nienna's silver eyes darted across the cavities, seeking out the soul she felt pulling at her spirit. She was so close. Further she went, delving deeper and rushing along the steps.

"Slow yourself!" Námo grasped her arm even as she felt her skirts swirl between her feet and tangle. She dangled over the edge of the walkway, her free arm fluttering over the drop until Námo pulled her upright. "I would prefer if we stuck to the stairs." His mouth twitched, but Nienna hardly noticed. Her eyes were intently focused on the combs behind him.

Over his shoulder, she could see the soul she came to collect. Her steps were slow, solemn, as she approached the tiny alcove that sheltered the dim soul that swirled like white smoke.

"What is wrong with it?" She asked her brother. A slash of grey ripped across its ethereal form, and the soft white vapor coalesced and dripped from the opening. Her eyes followed the droplet as it fell and dissipated before the next droplet took its place.

"It is rare, but I have seen it before," he shrugged. "Most souls find peace within these halls. They are granted the time and space to contemplate their lives and choices. Some are unable to accept the serenity offered, and the wounds of their life slowly cause their soul to fade."

"But these are the Undying Lands? He cannot fade."

"His soul grows weaker each day. It may not have the strength for rebirth when the time comes." His face was solemn. "It does not happen often, but sometimes the soul is too damaged by the time of Judgement, and they must remain in the Halls until they fade completely."

"There is no way to heal the weakened soul?"

"Only by finding the peace they will not accept."

Nienna nodded her head sharply. Her brows lowered, and her lips set in a firm line as she scooped up the wounded soul. She knew who he was; knew his pain as it burned throughout her being. Holding him in the cup of her hands was excruciating. The proximity of his regret oozing through her veins forced the air from her lungs. She panted, feeling herself descend into panic. Her brother's eyes came into focus, and his hands captured her shoulders. "Come back to me, Nienna."

It was too much; the regret, no, the _self-loathing _that permeated his being was a mountain on her heart. Her lungs were aching. Distantly she recognized the trembling in her legs. How could he have failed them all? His people, his allies, his wife… at the center of the storm, his soul sobbed for the suffering of his sweet son. It was this sin that rent his soul.

"Nienna, you must focus! Come back to me!"

She gulped lungfuls of air. They whooshed past her lips and burned through her. Námo was taking deep breaths as a guide for her to match. When she settled, he pulled her into his arms, carefully avoiding contact with the soul clutched within her hands.

"Any concerns I had over allowing you this gift have been overshadowed by my fear for your wellbeing. You have selected well, sister. Know that he may not wish to pull himself from his shadows."

"I would claim him only with his blessing," she said when her breathing had evened.

"Come," He kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders. "It's far more comfortable outside in the gardens. You may speak with him in privacy there."

The trek to the surface was mercifully brief, although the weight of her brother's worried stare frequently rested on her as he ushered her out of the tower. When at last she stepped into the starlight, she savored the brisk salt air and the soothing crash of waves against the cliff face. The high trees on each side of the walkway cast long shadows in the moonlight. She felt as if they were clawing her, and she tucked the soul into the thick fabric of her robes.

Námo settled her on a cold stone bench under a white oak that overlooked the sea and kissed the top of her head. "Be well, little sister. I have a meeting with Manwë to attend. As always, my home is yours, and it would please me greatly if you would stay here while you recover."

He eyed her hopefully until she graced him with a tentative smile. "It would please me as well, though I must think about it."

She waited until he vanished inside the palace before pulling the weeping soul from her robes. The gardens were empty and, save for a lone shadow drifting quickly past a ground floor window, she was alone.

She closed her eyes, felt her power rise like a wave, and surge from her fingertips. "Your chance has come, dear one. Awaken."

The mist swirled and spread beyond her fingers. It thickened and grew until a male elf stood before her, his silver hair glinting in the spokes of moonlight that filtered through the trees.

"My lady," he whispered and dropped to one knee.

Her hand tilted his chin upward. "Come and sit beside me. We have much to discuss."

He sprung onto the bench, neatly arranging his pale robe and attempting to avoid touching her. "I am lost, my lady. I thought judgment came from Námo?" His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped. "I mean no offense. I am merely misinformed and confused."

She chuckled, the first genuine laughter to pass her lips in centuries, and placed a hand over his own. "My brother is indeed the Judge. I am here to offer you an opportunity. Should you choose not to seize it, you will return to his halls to await his judgment." She nodded to the tower at the cliff's edge.

"I am eager to hear of the opportunity my lady offers." His brows rose, and she felt his fingers twitch beneath her own.

"Why do you hold no sorrow for yourself?" She asked instead.

His nail scratched at the stone, and his shoulders heaved a great sigh. "I carry more sorrow than I think I can bear. It…" His eyes closed tightly. "It suffocates me."

"And yet, none of it is sorrow for your own pain."

"How can I feel sorrow when my suffering was borne of my own actions?" He was quiet for a moment, eyes drifting from branch to branch in the tree above. "I was given choices, and I made all the wrong ones. My sorrow is for all those who suffered from my failures."

"Given the choice, would you return to ease their burden?"

His eyes finally met hers, and she felt another bright smile stretch across her face as his inner light pulsed briefly with hope and strength. "I would." His voice was thick. "If it was your will, I would return this very moment."

She squeezed his hand gently. "This choice is yours alone to make. There is much grief in front of you should you choose this path, and the one you love most is soon to suffer further, whether you choose to return or not."

"I would face any trial if only to ease his suffering."

"You will not be as you were at first," she warned. "And, though the one you cherish will benefit, your task will be to guard and guide another. She will have little knowledge of Middle Earth."

"My lady? Who would I be guarding?"

"You will know her when you are reborn. I will place you as near to each other as I am able." She squeezed his hand. "She will be in great danger, and her task will be difficult."

"If I knew more, I could be of greater help," he tried.

"This is as much as I dare say," she shook her head. "I have given you a task; it is your choice to complete it or not. After our last interference, we swore not to immerse ourselves in the conflicts of Middle Earth. You will not be the first of the elves we have sent to aid Middle Earth. Each was given a specific task, just as you are being given. You'll remember Lord Glorfindel?"

"He is the Lord of the Golden Flower, Captain of the guard at Imladris."

"We sent him back to Middle Earth with a singular quest: protect the House of Elrond Peredhel. He received no further instruction. Free will and choice must be the hands which mold Middle Earth."

His brows knotted together again, even as he nodded his head.

She studied the elf so deep in thought beside her. He was tall and broad across the shoulders, with a long sheet of silver hair draped like silk down his back. She knew his answer even if he thought he had not decided.

"You have much to gain in this, but you will have to learn to open yourself to others and trust them. Harder still, you will have to learn to trust yourself."

"How can I learn to trust myself when my choices have led to the ruin of so many?" He dropped his head into his hands. "How could they ever see past my crimes?"

"I cannot answer this for you." Her hand smoothed the hair that reached down his back. "This is a part of your journey. You must find the answers on your own."

His body seemed to deflate, and for a brief moment, she worried she had overestimated his courage. But his head rose, and she beamed at the determination blazing in his silver eyes. "I accept."

"Then, I give you my blessing." She pressed a brief kiss to his brow, feeling the hope mingling with the echoes of his regret and sorrow. "Go now and guard her. You'll find Charlotte to be a worthy companion."

The air around his body flashed brightly, and then she was alone once more in the gardens. Three seconds later, a series of booms erupted within the palace, and an angry scream pierced the night.

Nienna felt her lips twist in pleasure.

"I hope you know what you're doing," an amused voice said.

Nienna spun on her bench. Leaning against the trunk of the oak in all her finery, Varda was grinning and studying her nails.

"The most fascinating thing just occurred," she said. "At least fifteen of Vairë's creations spontaneously unraveled and dropped to the floor. One after the other. She was working herself into quite the fit when I escaped out here."

"Oh? How unfortunate," Nienna said, although her smirk contradicted her sentiment. "I dare say her skills have been… slipping… as of late."

The High Queen let out an undignified snort and grinned at Nienna. "She had it coming. It's about time too." She perched beside Nienna and fluffed her gauzy peach skirt. "It was an utter delight to behold."

Nienna raised a single blonde brow, "Still holding a grudge for the Feast of Starlight incident?"

"I'd hardly call it a grudge when I've yet to do anything in revenge."

"I noticed you said 'yet.'" Nienna shifted closer and whispered, "What exactly are you planning?"

"No more than you." She winked. "Don't think I missed your antics out here."

"I suppose that makes it easier to request your assistance."

She tilted her head, the star embedded in the center of her circlet contrasted against her skin. It was the first star she crafted from the dew of Telperion and one of the thousands of stars she formed for the sky at the awakening of the elves. Varda kept thirteen of her creations: one in her circlet, another in a ring for her husband, Manwë, and the remaining eleven set into a bracelet that dangled at her wrist at all times. "And what shall you ask of me? Ask it of me, and it shall be yours."

"It's not polite to eavesdrop," Nienna admonished, though it was without strength. "I ask for what my brother has already granted: a soul beyond my reach, and, in this case, beyond his."

"You seek this… Charlotte?"

"I feel her, though I cannot reach her. She is not of our world. Through the stars, you could pull her here."

Varda clasped her sister's hand and let her eyes close. Nienna could feel her tracing the pull through her body, following the string of grief and sorrow to the soul she sought.

"She is mortal," she said with her eyes still tightly shut. "I feel her pain through you. The path you set before her will only bring further agony."

"But it also brings great joy, and, if she succeeds, she will save so many."

Varda's wide chocolate eyes studied her carefully. At last, slowly, she said, "I imagine such an alteration would demolish a fair number of tapestries."

Nienna stifled a laugh. She'd hardly held so much happiness and hope in centuries, and this single night seemed to be filled with joy.

"She'll never succeed as a mortal, and the Two Trees no longer stand. She will need a different catalyst, and she must be elf-kind. The path you've created demands it." She twisted her fingers as she contemplated. The gentle tinkling sound of her bracelet paused her, and she pinched one of the dangling stars between her fingers and grinned. "I have the solution for at least two of our problems."


	2. The Gift of a Necklace

The house smelled like burnt meatloaf when Charlotte opened the door, and she wished she would've stopped at the sandwich shop she passed on the way to her mother's house. "Mama?" She called as she toed off her boots and wiggled her toes in her damp socks. A nor'easter had dropped six inches of snow on Virginia, and the neighbor who normally plowed her mother's driveway and shoveled the paths hadn't had a moment to drop by yet.

"I'm in the kitchen!"

Charlotte's fingers froze over the buttons of her coat, and she rushed into the small kitchen. "Mama, what are you doing? You know-" she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You can't be cooking by yourself. Here, come, sit down, and I'll finish up."

"Oh, hush," her mother said. "Look at you tracking snow in and spreading it all over the house like when you were little. Go on and get your coat off and hang it up. I'm amazed you didn't come stomping in here with your boots still covered."

"I've never 'stomped' anywhere." Charlotte shrugged off her pea coat and hung it over the back of a tall wooden dining chair with her scarf. "Where's Betsy?"

"I'm here. You know I wouldn't leave your mother alone for long. Dora, why is the floor all wet?" Betsy came around the corner and dropped a white plastic basket overflowing with laundry on top of the table.

"Charlotte brought the winter in with her," her mother sang from the stove.

Betsy quirked her lips and pulled a shirt from the top of the pile. She shook it out and spread it flat across the table, her wrinkled hands smoothing out the floral pattern before they tucked the edges in and folded Dora's shirt into a small square. She took a peek at Charlotte's mother, who was stirring a huge pot of water on the stove and humming under her breath. Satisfied that she was occupied, Betsy whispered to Charlotte, "It's lucky you came when you did."

"Has today been another bad day?"

"Quite the opposite, actually." Betsy finished folding a cream bath towel and set it aside before reaching for a pair of Dora's pants.

Charlotte pulled a sweater out, the ugly Christmas one she'd gotten her mom six years ago that had all the cats with Santa hats on it, and settled next to Betsy to fold. "Opposite enough that you're letting her cook?"

Besty snorted and then darted her eyes up to check her charge. "I pulled the stove out after I made dinner and unplugged it. Your Mama thinks she's cooking, and it makes her happy, but it's safe too."

Charlotte nibbled her cheek, and she could feel the guilt swimming in her belly. "Maybe we should tell her. How long has she been standing there waiting for that pot to boil?"

"It's your choice, but look at her. She's feeling in control for once. Why not let her have it?"

Charlotte did look at her mother then. Dora was softly singing and swaying as she stirred, her blue eyes bright and focused, and her wispy gray hair pulled into a neat chignon at the base of her neck. She periodically paused her stirring to massage her shoulder at the collarbone as if she were trying to smooth the wrinkles from her skin.

Her mother noted her stare and grinned. "Dinner will be ready soon. Hope you're hungry. I'm making your favorite." Dora's gaze shifted to Besty, and her brows knotted. "Charlotte, honey, your friends shouldn't be helping you with your chores." She turned to Betsy and added, "You sit down and make yourself at home. It's awful nice of you to help, but Charlotte needs to learn to handle her own responsibilities."

"I don't mind, Dora," Betsy said, scooping another shirt from the half-full basket. "Folding relaxes me, and we're nearly done now."

Dora pursed her lips but didn't say anything.

Betsy waited until the older woman was distracted again before turning to Charlotte. "It's been a good day, but we've had a few sort of," she teetered her head as she debated the word she wanted to use, "odd moments today. Not like her usual stuff."

"Doctor Portmand said we could expect her to deteriorate quickly." Charlotte scrunched the shirt she'd be folding in her fists. "I'm surprised she's doing as well as she is today. A few _odd_ moments are worth it for a couple hours of her at least knowing my name."

"I agree, but these aren't like her usual ones." Besty shook her head as if clearing away something unpleasant. "She was completely lucid, except she wasn't. She kept talking about some woman who gave her a gift for you. I've not seen whatever this gift is, and, when I ask her about it, she fades out on me again."

Plucking at the sleeves of the shirt she'd been folding, Charlotte said, "Has anyone been to see her?"

Betsy paused and gave Charlotte a pitying smile, "Your sister hasn't visited. I expect she won't at all." Here she shook herself and focused on her task. "It's sad to say so, I know. Fear of pain keeps her away, and yet she'll suffer all the more for it. I can only hope she'll come to see her mother before the end." Betsy left off that she didn't think that would be the case. There was no sense in further paining Charlotte.

"Yes, where is Abby?" Dora interrupted. She twisted the knob to turn off the burner, oblivious to a lack of flame on the gas stove, and carried the pot of cold water to the sink where she drained it through a colander. "Standing over that stove for so long has given me a crick in my neck. I always hated how hot it is when you're cooking, but the results are well worth it." Her hand clutched the back of her neck as she rolled her head, her eyes closed as she stretched. "Honey, can you go and get your sister from the neighbor's house? She can see her friends again tomorrow."

"Mama-"

"Honestly, she's constantly over there anyway. It would be nice if she'd spend just a few minutes with her own family," her mother continued. "And- hmm, what was I doing again?"

"You were getting the meatloaf you made," Besty said and swooped around her to grab a white baking dish with delicate ivy vines painted around the edges from the counter beside the stove. "It's still warm. I'll take this, and you can grab the potatoes. No, the other dish there, the blue one."

Potatoes in hand, her mother turned to her daughter and said, "Honey, would you please set the table? Honestly, I have to remind you every time."

Dinner was, as usual, a confusing affair. Charlotte had to remind her mother or redirect her, no less than four times, when she continued to ask about the whereabouts of her younger sister. Once, she turned to her daughter and asked, "Who is this friend of yours? You haven't said."

"This is your companion, Mama. Her name is Betsy. She's been with you for ten years."

Her mother's mouth dropped open, "Oh." She glanced at Betsy and back to her daughter. "Are you sure? She's quite pretty, and she seems really nice," here her voice dropped to a whisper, "but she's not really my type. I was really fond of your father, you know."

This was a new response. Betsy coughed and thumped her chest before seizing her water glass and gulping down half of it. Charlotte's lips twitched, "No, Mama. She's an in-home living assistant."

"Living-assistant? Like for the elderly?" Dora forced her fork down so hard it screeched across the porcelain plate.

Charlotte debated briefly. This conversation was frequent with her mother and could go two ways. She desperately wanted to take the easier route but explained the truth of the matter to her mother. "You're forgetful, Mama." She softened the blow by leaving out her list of diagnoses. Knowing from experience that her mother would fight what she perceived to be an insult to her character, Charlotte quickly added, "Betsy has been with you for ten years, because ten years ago you almost burned the house down, with you in it, when you left a burner on and forgot about it. Most of the damage was repaired, but see there? Over the stove? The paint is a slightly different shade than the rest of the kitchen, and there's no-"

"There's no cabinet." Her mother's eyes were wide and glassy. "The cabinet is gone. I remember it was there because I hated having the spices above the stove. They were constantly falling every time I had to get something from behind the first row of jars. Oh god, what have I done? What's happened to me? Why can't I remember?" Her chair screeched against the linoleum as she thrust back from the table and fled the room.

"You want me to take it this time?" Besty's hand on mine was a balm against the pain blooming in my chest.

"I've got this, but thanks."

"I'll be in here if you, or she, needs me."

Charlotte squeezed Betsy's fingers. "Thank you for taking care of both of us."

Dora was pacing the full length of the room, between the unlit fireplace and the tv stand, before her daughter guided her into a cushy floral armchair at the window. "I just don't understand," she said.

"Let me help you through this," her daughter said, settling on her knees before her mother's chair. "I can give you any answers you need to know."

"Help?" Her mother suddenly looked thoughtful, her eyes narrowed under furrowed brows.

Charlotte tilted her head, "Mama?"

"That's what she said: 'help.'"

"That's what who said?"

"The woman, this morning, she came to me with a gift for you. She was beautiful." Her mother's gaze focused, and she seized Charlotte's hands between both of hers with an intensity that frightened her daughter. "She said I had to give you her gift when you came to visit me. That you would help people."

"Mama, what are you talking about? What woman? Betsy said you haven't had any visitors."

"She didn't come to see Betsy."

"There was no woman," Charlotte gently extracted her hands and wrapped them around her mother's warm cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how confusing all of this is for you." Her voice cracked a little. "It's just me and Betsy, Mama."

"She was here."

"I'm sorry-"

"See?" Her mother yanked free, diving her hand into the pocket of her dress, and yanking out a flash of silver that she displayed by pinching the two ends between her thumb and index fingers. The delicate silver chain in each hand trailed inward until it met sweeping antlers that looked as if they would flow across her collarbones. The intricate beams curled downward into a vee that cradled an enormous teardrop stone.

"It looks like a diamond," Charlotte said, her jaw plummeted in shock, "but I've never seen one so bright. It's almost as if it's glowing, and it's completely smooth."

Dora smirked, a look that clearly said, "I told you so."

"Come on, then, put it on."

"I couldn't. If this diamond is real, it must be worth a fortune." Charlotte ran a reverent finger over the glistening stone but jerked her hand back when she felt its heat. "It's warm?"

"Of course it is, silly, it's been in my pocket, and it's incredibly warm in here after all. We'll have to ask Betsy to drop the thermostat a bit tonight." She draped the necklace across her lap and placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders until she forced her around.

It was comforting, Charlotte thought, to have her mother's hands drifting through her hair again, pulling the thick chocolate strands up until she could slide the necklace on and clasp it at the back. The metal was a cool contrast to the heat of the stone, and Charlotte admired the way the light played across the shimmering metal. "It's deceptively light," she said. "I expected it to weigh a ton with how these antlers reach."

"Keep it safe," was all her mother said. "It has what you need."

"Thank you," Charlotte said. She was convinced that it was merely a well-made costume piece her mother had ordered from one of the many junk mail catalogs that flooded her mailbox. After all, Charlotte had to work two jobs to keep up with her mother's house, medical expenses, Betsy's salary, and the living expenses for both. Not to mention her own required expenditures, including her apartment in the city that was closer to work. There was no way either of them could've afforded a real stone the size of the grape-shaped pseudo-diamond set into the necklace gracing her chest.

"For what?" Her mother smiled, running a hand over her daughter's head.

"The necklace is beautiful. I'll hardly want to take it off." It was true. Costume piece or not, it was the most beautiful necklace she owned now, and although she wasn't particularly into hunting or deer, the antlers were stunning and graceful.

"What necklace?" Her mother asked, and then, catching sight of the silver glinting against her daughter's dark sweater, she grinned, "That's gorgeous! Did you get that from a man, by chance?"

The night had been draining enough, so Charlotte chose the easy way this time. "You know I have no men in my life."

"You should though," She said, ignoring her daughter's heavy groan. "Seriously, you're nearly thirty Charlotte. You can't just let life pass you by. You're smart and funny and gorgeous and, sure, I'm biased, but that doesn't mean it's not true."

"I still have plenty of time. It's not like I'm-" Charlotte's gaze flew to her mother. "How old am I?"

"Well, let's see," Her mother suddenly seemed cautious. "It's February now. You were born in May of '92, so 27."

Charlotte's throat tightened. "You remember."

"Of course, I remember! How could I forget my own daughter's birth?" Her mother chuckled. "I was in labor with you for two and a half days, after all. Not to mention you were over a week late. But you were so stubborn, you simply refused to come out, and you've been just as determined since."

"Besty!" Charlotte screamed. "Betsy, she remembers!"

Betsy flew into the living room, wiping suds off her hands with a little towel. "What does she remember?"

"She knows how old I am!" Charlotte was practically bouncing with excitement and failed to notice the shadow drift across the caretaker's face.

"That's fantastic," Betsy said, though Charlotte thought her voice sounded sad. "You two enjoy it." She seemed to silently imply, "..._while it lasts."_

The next twenty minutes were spent catching her mother up on all the things Charlotte had been doing over the years, from the few short relationships she'd managed, to projects she'd completed at work, the research she'd been assisting with at the University, and the online night courses she was slowly working through to improve her Latin.

The emotional crash when her mother drifted out was nearly overwhelming. "I'm so proud of you. You're going to do great things, I know it," Her mother had said. "I remember telling your father when you were little…"

Charlotte never did find out what Dora had told her father. "You told him…" Charlotte prompted, squeezing her mother's hand as if to keep her memory in her body.

"I'm sorry." Dora shook her head and squeezed back. "I must've spaced out. What were you saying?"

"I was saying I should start heading home," Charlotte pressed her lips tight to keep them from wobbling and quickly turned away to hide the gathering tears.

Betsy must have been keeping an ear on the conversation, for she strolled into the living room in a picture of calm and collected efficiency and pulled Dora up with an arm under her charge's elbow. "Time for your medicine, Dora. It's late, and we all need to get some rest."

Her mother nodded, before enveloping Charlotte in a one-armed hug. "She's right; I'm exhausted. I'll see you in the morning, honey," her mother said. "Love you. Sleep tight."

If Charlotte held on a little longer, her mother didn't say anything. She smoothed her fingers over her daughter's curls and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before Betsy ushered her to the kitchen for her pre-bedtime meds.

The drive to her lonely apartment felt twice as long, and Charlotte couldn't shake the heaviness that had settled in her heart. Her mind played over Betsy's desolate attitude when her mother had such mental clarity. Charlotte couldn't remember a single time in the past four years when her mother had been so alert and focused.

By the time she was settled in her bed and had changed into a pair of loose black sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, she'd pushed Betsy's reaction from her mind. Instead, she fingered the glossy diamond-like stone in her new necklace. Despite what she had said to her mother, she thought it too extravagant to sleep in, regardless of its surprising comfort and weightlessness. She was still clutching the stone in her fingers when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up as it rattled across her nightstand, and a circular photo of Besty from last Christmas popped up.

"Hey, Betsy." Charlotte wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder and continued her study of the necklace. "Did Mom give you trouble this evening after I left?"

The line was silent for a moment, and when Betsy finally spoke, her voice cracked, "Charlotte-"

Charlotte darted up. "What happened? Is Mom ok? Let me throw my shoes on; I can be there in less than thirty minutes if I fly."

"Charlotte, honey-"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"I just talked to her, and she was fine."

"She said she was tired and went to lay down. I must've only been gone maybe five minutes after I got her settled in her bed. I brought her nighttime meds and tried to rouse her. I did CPR until the paramedics arrived, but they couldn't revive her. They said it was likely a heart attack but won't know for sure without an autopsy. I'm so sorry, Charlotte."

Charlotte felt like her head was underwater. "But I just talked to her. She remembered, and we were talking, and she was fine. She remembered."

"I know." She seemed to hesitate, "It's why I was concerned earlier. It's not unheard of for terminal patients to experience a day of lucidity or a last-rally before…" She cleared her throat, and Charlotte heard her sniffle.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Charlotte asked, clenching the phone tighter. Dimly, she noted tines of the antlers pricking her skin. "Why did you warn me?"

"When it only lasted twenty minutes, I thought maybe I was paranoid," she said. "Besides, you were so happy to have your mother for those few minutes. Would you trade that time for twenty minutes of fretting and worry?"

"I could've done something though."

"Like what?" she said gently.

"I don't know. Called an ambulance?"

"And told them what? That your mother was having a lucid spell?"

Charlotte's lips quivered, and she clenched her jaw. "You're right." She finally said. "I'm sorry. I just can't believe…"

"I know. I can't believe she's gone either. She loved you so much." Besty seemed to be losing the battle against her own emotions. "Try to rest tonight, if you can. We can discuss her funeral arrangements in the morning."

"Thank you for caring for her, Betsy."

Whatever Besty said, Charlotte didn't hear. She'd already pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call, her eyes wide and unseeing.

She felt her body shaking, felt the cool tines of her mother's last gift jammed into the skin of her palm. What was that horrible grating sound? She belatedly realized it was coming from her. She couldn't breathe.

Her mother was dead.

For the past ten years, her mother's welfare had been her singular focus. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? She'd finally remembered her. Why couldn't she breathe?

There was a rushing sound in her ears. Her lungs burned as she wheezed. In. Out. In Out. InOutInOut. She needed air. She needed air. Spots danced in front of her eyes. Is this how her mother felt all alone in her bed? Would she die here too? Would she see her soon?

The necklace burned in her hand. White filled her watery vision. Her room spun, and the last thought she had before passing out was, "What do I really have left?"


	3. The Last Homely House

It was immediately apparent that Charlotte was not in heaven. If she was, her head wouldn't have been throbbing, and she wouldn't have been fighting the urge to toss up the earlier meatloaf Betsy made.

She wasn't sure if she was upset about this. Nearly anything seemed preferable to waking up in a world that lacked the essential bright spot that was her mother. The idea of calling all of her mother's old friends was crushing. What was she supposed to say to the people who didn't stick around? They trickled out of her mother's life, and who could blame them? Now that she considered it, did she really need to call the people who had stepped away so easily? Probably. It would be "the right thing," and Charlotte couldn't imagine doing anything other than the socially correct action. She absently swatted a hair from her face and sighed.

She needed to get up, call Betsy, and face the first day of her new existence without the person who had been there every day of her life. Charlotte had no idea how she was going to manage that.

"Coffee," she groaned. That would fix her most pressing biological needs, at least. Her psychological ones would have to wait.

The instant she opened her eyes, however, she knew there would be no coffee in her morning. A baby blue sky with wispy clouds peered down at her, and a sweet earthy scent filled her nose. The hair rubbing against her face turned out to be long stalks of heather, golden under the afternoon sun. She stood and gasped. There was no civilization in sight.

A forest, thick and gloomy, pressed at her back, and an enormous grey mountain range tickled with pines erupted before her. In between the two was a lush field of heather with smudges of green and lilac bending under the breeze like thousands of thin little soldiers paying homage to the stone peaks.

Every part of her mind wanted to justify what she was seeing and turn it into something logical, but when she stepped forward, a sharp spike jammed into the sole of her foot. "Son of a-" Charlotte hissed, clenching her eyes shut and hobbling through the stinging pain. The necklace, the last gift from her mother, winked innocently up at her. The sunlight seemed to enhance it's unearthly glow as Charlotte scooped it up. "Well, that crosses 'dreaming' off the list then."

Not that it was genuinely an option; her senses were bombarded by the stimuli of the world around her. She could feel the heather against her skin, smell the damp soil beneath her feet, and knew that any amount of pinching herself would be futile. She was genuinely here, in this place she didn't recognize, when she should be safely in her overpriced small apartment.

Charlotte debated as she clasped the necklace around her neck. The teardrop stone settled neatly above the vee of her shirt, and the antlers spread cooly against her skin. It was a least one tether to her reality.

She could lay down and close her eyes and hope she woke up in her bed again, but that seemed silly. There would be coverage in the forest behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and studied the arching boughs, and the thick trunks tucked tightly together. The field provided no assurance of safety, but to Charlotte, it was preferable to the oppressive darkness after her earlier episode. No, she certainly didn't want to feel trapped and breathless so soon again.

Decision made, she plodded barefoot through the heather, following the graceful curves of the grassland toward the mountain ahead. Inevitably she'd stumble along someone. It wasn't like human beings hadn't been prolific over the years; she couldn't imagine there was more than a mile or two untouched by mankind.

Picking her way over the heather proved trickier than she expected. The land was riddled with boulders and deep clefts hidden by the tall grass. She had to follow the ravines running parallel to the mountains until she found an easier crossing point, but it seemed her feet were doomed to be pierced and sliced by the rocks and brambles regardless of her path.

As the afternoon wore on, and the sun beat down on her skin, Charlotte despaired. Her hunger was slowing her. Her last meal was the meatloaf the night before, and she hadn't finished much because of her mother's upset. She could hear trickling water but had yet to find it, and her throat felt dry and scratchy. Her feet were far past the point of rescue, and she found herself gingerly placing each step to minimize the sudden pressure on her swollen bloodied feet.

Just as she thought she should turn and begin the long trek to the forest to find shelter for the night or settle inside one of the ravines and hope for the best, she spotted dark hazy figures on horseback, picking their way along the treeline.

"Hello!" She shouted, waving her arms above her head.

The figure in front whipped it's head around and shouted something, a strange, guttural cry before it was charging at her. There was a ringing in her ears as they pulled their swords out, and the dark metal glinted in the sun, held aloft by deformed creatures with broad ears like bat's wings and rows of thin sharp teeth. What she had thought were horses were the most substantial wolves she'd ever seen, with narrow snouts and long canines that speared past their wet lips. The four of them were swallowing up the distance, flattening the heather under their bulk.

She had no hope, but she ran anyway. Her damaged feet pounded over the field, leaping her over chunks of forgotten grey stones and flinging her over the narrow ravines that pockmarked the earth. The mountain grew closer, the heather denser, and the sound of thundering water filled her with hope. She had a chance! She might actually survive!

A whooshing arrow sliced her arm before burying itself deep into the soft soil. A second one grazed her thigh, and the blood quickly soaked her sweatpants. The creatures were laughing and circling her on their furry mounts, twisting and herding her until she was pinned. Seeing the monsters up close was even worse: their skin was mottled and greasy, and huge lumps grew beneath their flesh. They reeked of iron and sweat and smell nearly made her gag. Another arrow scraped across her arm.

They were playing with her.

The nearest wolf leaped and nipped at her heels, and the creatures leered and grinned when she screamed and tried to run. They closed ranks, alternating between feinting as if to bite and growling as they stalked her. The single bowman launched one of his arm-length black arrows at her, intentionally nicking her arm, and then her leg, before grazing her ear when she saw a break between the wolves and ran for it. The pressed her back, spinning her away from the mountain. Charlotte realized she was being herded toward the trees and cried.

She'd never make it out again.

She wasn't going down without a fight, though, and wasn't it better to die quickly than go through whatever these beasts had planned? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to fling herself at the nearest rider to try for his sword, but she didn't get the chance.

A shriek rent the air as a great moose stormed into the leader and scooped the wolf in its enormous antlers before flinging it away and stampeding over the bodies of both wolf and rider. The moose spun, charging down the other three wolves, who bucked and panicked under their passengers until the moose crashed through them and sent them scampering toward the forest while he thrashed at their heels with the sharp tines of his antlers.

The bowman was trying to aim behind him without losing his seat and might have killed Charlotte's rescuer had he been paying closer attention. His head slammed with a crunch into the first of the low-lying branches, sending his arrow wide and slicing deep through the outside of the moose's foreleg. Charlotte could see the moose stomping on what she assumed was the downed body.

She froze as her rescuer flicked his great head up and found her a short distance away. He limped closer, and she resolutely turned her gaze away from the gore that coated his legs.

She'd been calling him a moose, but perhaps that wasn't quite right, she thought, as she studied the approaching animal warily. It had just killed or attacked four of those… whatever they were. She was not entirely convinced she wouldn't be trampled as well. It was far more likely that this breed was territorial, and, rightly, saw those _things_ as the more significant threat.

He appeared to be some variety of hybrid and was undoubtedly the most massive deer breed she'd ever heard of, for his body was distinctly elk-like, streamlined with glossy fur so grey it was nearly a pale silver. Just one of his moose-like antlers, each with a broad flat paddle and gracefully arching tines, seemed big enough to carry her laying down. His own eyes, thick bands of silver around a bottomless pupil, appeared to study her in return. She couldn't help but feel as if he found her lacking somehow.

Charlotte pulled her chin up, "Don't look at me like that. Not all of us have gigantic tusks on our heads that we can use to impale our enemies." She huffed and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

It was laughing at her, if the twitch of its lips was any indication, and she chuckled before shaking her head to clear it. "I've officially lost it."

The beast limped closer, and she caught the blood weeping from the wound on his calf. "Well, let's see about that then." She grasped one of the tears near the bottom of her shirt and ripped the fabric until she'd pulled a long enough section. "I don't suppose you'll let me make an attempt to bandage you? I'm not much of a veterinarian, but I do know that I need to stop your bleeding."

The elk was rigid as she crept forward, and she tucked her head down in submission and prayed she wasn't gouged by his antlers for sneaking into his personal space. Helping him was the least she could do since he'd saved her life, and it was far better than descending into the shock she felt trying to take over her shaking body. She sighed as she dropped to her knees before the wounded animal, and gently wrapped the cotton around his leg as many times as she could before knotting the ends. Slipping two fingers under the makeshift bandage, she checked to assure herself it wasn't too tight. "How's that?"

The elk dipped his head, and she took that to mean it would do. She imagined he'd probably gnaw it off later anyway.

"Well then, off you go!" She made a shooing motion with her bloodied hands, before adding, hastily, "Thank you!"

But the elk tilted it's head and seemed to be amused by her antics.

"Hey, whoa, no, what are you doing? Nope, back up, big guy."

The elk gently nosed her, his neck arched to avoid stabbing her with the tines of his antlers, prodding her until she faced the mountains and then pushing her in the back.

"Trust me, I'm not going anywhere near the woods." She assured, but the elk kept at her. "Okay, I'm going. I'm going. Get off your lawn, I know."

The elk finally stopped shoving at her when she picked her way over the heather toward the mountain. Charlotte was bone-weary, and had taken a good number of knicks and bumps herself, but her shirt was already jagged and exposing her midriff. She had no idea what the nights would be like and was unlikely to make it to the base of the mountain on foot by nightfall. Her options were: freeze overnight or pass out from blood loss. "Or both," She said ruefully and heard a snort behind her.

The elk was still following, impatiently at that, if the periodic stamp of his hooves were to be believed.

"I'm sorry, but this is as fast as I go," she said. "I'm only human after all, and I'm starving, barefoot, tired, bleeding, and, quite frankly, freaked out."

He shifted his head again and looked confused, then hung his head in what could only be the elk-equivalent of a defeated sigh. And suddenly, he was in front of her, with his strong back blocking the path to the mountain.

"Would you make up your mind, please?" Charlotte huffed. "Stay, go, which one- oof!"

He had sidestepped into her, giving her a mouthful of fur. His head craned around, and he nudged her toward his back.

"Oh no," Charlotte said, trying unsuccessfully to back away. "No, no. No, thank you. I've never even ridden a horse. It's very nice of you, but I'll walk. Hey, no! Stop pushing. There's no way I can even get on your back. Look at you. Goodness, what did you eat to get that tall, anyway?"

The elk neatly folded his legs under until he was settled in the heather, looking for all the world like a dignified antlered cat.

Charlotte glanced at the sun sitting low above the horizon and then at the base of the mountain in the distance. She sighed. "Fine. You win," she said. "You're awfully bossy for a majestic woodland animal."

If possible, he only looked pleased by the description.

Hands against his back, she pushed down to lever herself up and swung her left leg as far over as she could. The rest involved wiggling herself into place while trying to hold fistfuls of his short fur so she wouldn't slip off. She must've pulled too hard because he snorted at her and shook his head.

She quickly apologized, loosened her hold and squeezed her legs tighter around him as he lurched to his feet.

His trotting would cut their time in half, although she knew she would be sore from bouncing against his back the whole trip. At least she didn't have to worry about drifting to sleep and sliding off his back.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked when he veered off course. They were heading for one of the many outcroppings of rocks that dotted the landscape. A gash marred the surface, and he plunged them both inside without hesitation.

She figured this was his home, and they'd reach an open cave at some point, but as they dove deeper into the rocks, the pathway grew narrower and continued to slope downward.

Charlotte was tempted to sleep while they traveled but quickly shook it off as a terrible idea. In the past twenty-four hours, her mother had died, she'd suddenly found herself in a field far from her bed, and she'd been rescued from deformed sword-wielding monsters by a highly intelligent moose-elk. She was too exhausted and horrified to do anything other than stay alert while they traveled through the tunnels.

When it was so tight the walls scraped at her legs, she clutched his fur tightly. The sun had set a while ago, and thousands of stars glittered through the skimpy crevices above. She'd never seen so many stars in her life, and she thought it was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen until they turned the last tight corner and emerged from the tunnel.

Water streamed through the fissures in the stone walls, pooling around the elk's hooves before dropping over the sheer face of the cliff and far into the valley below to join the river winding between the two mountain ranges. The air was thick with pine and the sound of hundreds of waterfalls as they carved at the mountain face. Nestled in the opposite cliff, across the stretch of the valley, a sweeping estate glowed and flickered with firelight. It was a stunning construction of arches and curves, with a spacious main house surrounded by smaller buildings that climbed up the side of the cliff. The high windows of the houses blazed with warmth, bronzing the dark valley.

The elk had paused, ears twitching forward and back, and Charlotte froze in her seat. At first, she could only hear the trickling water as it swirled under her, then the distant echo of the roaring falls through the valley, but at last, a soft whisper of a song, gentle and serene and with all the feeling of home, reached her ears.

"It's beautiful," she said, although it was a vast understatement.

Her companion agreed. He snorted and gracefully swerved to follow the path as it picked its way down the side of the mountain. Charlotte didn't consider herself clumsy, but she was sure she would have struggled over the rocks and shrubs in the darkness. The elk had no such issues, even with the limp forming in his front leg. Each step was as confident as if he'd traversed this path thousands of times before, and it wasn't long before they'd reached a long bridge that extended across the valley to the estate.

It was broad enough for a single rider, with no parapet, ending in a circular courtyard crowded with people. Their hushed melodic voices swam across the short distance, and the elk didn't hesitate to cross the narrow walkway to meet them.

She tightened her knees around his body after glancing over the edge to the churning river far below. Guarding each side of the bridge at the end, were two enormous statues of soldiers with long spears and layers of armor. Their stern foreboding faces were topped with elegantly pointed helms, and she shivered as she passed beneath them.

When her elk limped into the courtyard, the waiting crowd hushed. She clenched her companion's fur harder. She didn't know these strange people.

They were clearly divided into three groups, and all of them were dressed oddly, in long flowing robes and cloaks. At first, she thought it was a crowd of women, but the person at the center of the group, with wrinkles like a wave across his forehead and dark hair flowing all the way down his back, was definitely male.

"Welcome, traveler, to Imladris," he said, and his arms swept wide. On his brow, a silver circlet glinted in the light from the lanterns that circled the courtyard. But the ornament was the least of her problems. Poking out from his dark hair were two perfectly curved ears, tipped in a rounded point.

She glanced around. All of their ears were pointed! And while most of these people looked peaceful, with their soft expressions and gentile manners, the group on the far right looked lethal. They all wore dark breeches and tunics and had swords and bows strapped to their bodies. Most of the group already had a hand resting on either weapon.

Even as she watched them, they parted by some unheard command, and a man strode through. He was quite possibly the most stunning man she'd ever seen: he had wispy blond hair so pale it was nearly silver, capped with an impressive crown formed with branches and tiny red flowers. A thick green velvet cape swished against the stones as he passed through his subjects to gaze at her. His movements were sharp and efficient yet regal. Every bit of him screamed, "Predator!" He was the most frightening of all of them, and Charlotte quickly decided that she never wanted anything to do with the king before her.

Her previously fearless mount agreed. Her elk stumbled a few steps back onto the bridge as if to flee, and she hoped he would. He collected himself and stood rigid between the stone guardians.

"Where have you brought us?" She whispered to him. "They're certainly prettier than the others, but they don't look much safer." Charlotte eyed the king wearily.

The king smirked, and she heard a low feminine chuckle to her left. A beautiful woman, draped in a white gown, sailed forward with a blinding smile. Her eyes were deep and bright, and for a moment, Charlotte felt the strangest sensation of being trapped in them.

"He is not as terrifying as he seems. You are safe here, little one," the woman said. She then turned to the dark-haired man, "I am the Lady Galadriel, and this is Lord Elrond. He will be your host. You have traveled far to come here, Charlotte. Welcome to Middle Earth."

"Where exactly is 'Middle Earth?'" Charlotte asked, ignoring the confused gazes of the others.

The king opened his mouth as if to speak, but the Lady Galadriel cut him off. "There is a map in the Lord's study. I am sure he would be pleased to show it to you after your wounds are tended. He will be interested to know where you were attacked by orcs."

"How did you…"

She smiled, looking highly entertained. "I read your mind and your wounds. The pass will not be safe tonight, even with an elk of that size at your side. Come, there is food, medicine, and answers inside."

"What do you think?" Charlotte skeptically asked her elk, ignoring the fact that he brought her to this strange place to begin with.

The elk stomped his healthy leg twice, and she took that as an affirmative answer. She threw her left leg over his rump and slid down. The stone was cold and soothing against her torn bare feet.

As she stepped around the elk, suddenly, the men were extremely focused on anything but her: the trees, the stars, the lanterns that lit the walkways above the grand house... Lord Elrond coughed and shifted his feet as the Lady Galadriel laughed, loud and freely.

Charlotte realized then that she was standing barefoot in ripped sweatpants, and her shirt was torn so that it danced above her belly button. It was no wonder she was chilly, and obviously, it was far too little coverage to be considered "proper" by a group that covered themselves head-to-toe in robes.

Just as she was about to slink back to her mount, the king shifted and quickly strode toward her, yanking the silver clasps that held his cape around his collar. She jerked back against the chest of her companion, and the king froze.

"I mean only to offer you my cloak," he said, and his voice was softer than she had imagined it would be. He slowly edged forward, his silver eyes pinning her where she stood tucked under the chin of her only known friend in this strange place. "Here," he said. He gently slid it around her shoulders when she didn't move and clasped it beneath her chin. "You may keep it until you have more… fitting… garments."

"Thank you," she whispered. His cloak was a tale of contradiction: it smelled of sweet honey and vanilla, but also of oak and moist earth and golden leaves on a breeze in autumn. More importantly: it was decadently warm from his body heat. Even now, he still towered over her, the top of her head coming neatly to his chin.

"Come," Lord Elrond said, breaking the spell, "Let me see to your wounds."

"Wait!" Charlotte said. She pressed a hand to the neck of her elk. "My… friend… was injured. An arrow sliced his leg, and I did the best I could to bandage it, but it looked so deep. I can't go with you until he is taken care of. Please, do you have anyone who could look at him?"

Elrond eyed the enormous elk skeptically but called over his shoulder for another man who eagerly stepped forward. "Gwenestadren will care for your companion and shelter him in our stables."

"It is settled," Galadriel said. "Though your wounds may have clotted, you are likely to stain poor Thranduil's cloak with your blood if we do not tend to you soon."

Charlotte felt guilty and immediately reached to undo the clasp when the king sighed and covered her hands with his own. "Had I minded, I would not have loaned it to you. It is yours to borrow, as I have said." He ended his statement with a pointed glare at the smiling Lady.

The elk nudged her in the back then, and she turned to cup his face between her hands. "I'll be back to check on you as soon as I can. Probably tomorrow, so you can get some rest. Thank you for saving my life." She ran her hand down his muzzle and watched him happily close his eyes before he nudged her again. "I'm going. I'm going."

And as she followed Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel up the grand stairs and into the sprawling golden house filled with these strange unknown people, she couldn't help but glance back over her shoulder to watch her new friend as he was guided to the stables.

* * *

AN: Thank you for your kind reviews! They were incredibly motivating. I look forward to hearing your thoughts! Thanks for reading.


	4. The Will of the Valar

When Charlotte was much younger, and her mother healthier, she would frequently play princesses with her baby sister, Abby. They would take turns swirling their bedsheet dresses and dipping into deep wobbly curtseys for their eager audience; Lumpy the Bear was a devoted theater-goer, after all, and didn't everyone eventually marry and become a princess? But little Charlotte grew older, tucked her princess career behind her, and became an assistant to a university professor in the history department where her crotchety boss relegated her to fetching hundreds of cups of tea and translating the original source material into English for him.

"You're hardly qualified to do much else," he would say, before taking a sip of his tea and insisting she make him a new cup because it was too cold.

She would dutifully nod, ignore that she brought the steaming hot tea twenty minutes earlier, and make a fresh cup because the university signed the paycheck that covered her mother's in-home living assistant, the weekly home visit with a nurse, and all the other minutiae that went into caring for her mother. It didn't matter that all of his research depended on her translations and her connections between other relevant texts.

Charlotte felt a brief surge of pride: qualified or not, she was the one currently wearing a flowing medieval gown that ghosted across the stone floors of a lord's Art Nouveau mansion. Walking beside these perfect examples of medieval lords and ladies quickly squashed that satisfaction. The burgundy gown was beautiful and the velvet soft, but she was clearly an unpolished imposter compared to these otherworldly beings. They each looked regal in their robes and gowns, with branching silver circlets gracing their smooth hair. The Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel even possessed brilliant glowing rings upon their hands. They looked like angels to Charlotte and seemed to float rather than stumble along as she did.

In her defense, she was exhausted, and her feet were wrapped snuggly in bandages and crammed into ill-fitting shoes that were an odd cross between ankle boots and slippers. The white cloth bandages peeked out from the open vee across the bridge, and the back strap ended just above the heel. They looked like two folded leaves reaching up from her toes to hug around her ankle.

Even now, as she paced beside the arching windows that lined the Lord Elrond's office, the differences were notable. Elrond, Galadriel, the Elvenking, and four others she'd yet to be introduced to, sat patiently, still as lake water, while she churned like an ocean.

"I'm in Imladris?" Charlotte asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "And you all are elves? And- wait, I'm sorry, what year is it?"

"The year is 109 of the Third Age," a golden-haired man- no, elf, spoke from his post behind Lord Elrond.

"Third age of…" Charlotte prompted. "I'm sorry…"

"Glorfindel, my lady." The blonde bowed shortly.

"Glorfindel." Charlotte flipped her gauzy white sleeves back so she could rub warmth into her fingers. The windows lacked glass, and the breeze was chilly. The thin fabric covering her arms did little to thwart the winter temperatures, and the Elvenking's warm cloak had been returned to him while a servant had dressed her. "How am I here? Why am I here?"

Lord Elrond folded his long pale fingers from where he was seated behind an ornate wood desk with carvings of flowers and leaves wrapping around its legs. "It would be best if we start with where you have come from. Begin with your last memory before you arrived here."

Charlotte did not want to think about her last memory. Not when the loss was so fresh. It had been only a single day since her mother's death. Had Betsy worried when she didn't show up in the morning to discuss the funeral arrangements? Did she call Abby?

"I got a phone call," she hedged, "with terrible news."

One of the silver-haired elves looked ready to ask what a phone call was, but Lord Elrond silenced him with a wave. "Later, Amroth," the lord said.

"I couldn't breathe. There was white everywhere and heat. I must have passed out. When I woke up, I was lying in the fields on the other side of the mountains."

"Is this where you encountered the orcs?"

"At first, no." Charlotte rubbed the edge of a sleeve between her thumb and forefinger. "I wandered most of the day. The forest… there was just something unpleasant about it, so I figured I'd make my way toward the mountains and find civilization. I could hear the river, and normally there's a city or a town near water sources."

She was hardly expecting the civilization she found: an establishment of elves in a luxurious home with lush gardens, terraces that arched over the river, gazebos with climbing vines of fragrant flowers, and hundreds of waterfalls creating a symphony as they carved the mountain.

Even stumbling and tired, she was awed by the majesty of it. And the elves! The air was permeated with melodic voices singing out. They sang greetings and goodbyes and everything between them. Even Lord Elrond sang to her as he picked and scrubbed the dirt and rocks from her battered feet and smeared a sweet-smelling poultice across the wounds.

"The orcs were near the forest when they spotted me," Charlotte said. She left off that she had foolishly called out to them. "They tried to chase me into the trees, but the elk rescued me."

"They will not risk entering these lands," Lord Elrond said, and his tone implied that he would not elaborate.

"It is concerning that they are so close to our borders." Glorfindel moved to the door. "_Boe i 'waen_. I will increase the border patrols and send a party to burn the corpses."

"_No dirweg_." Lord Elrond inclined his head briefly before turning his gaze to Charlotte.

"What language is that?" Charlotte asked. "It's almost Welsh, but I can't completely understand it."

"We're speaking the Common Tongue now, but we normally speak Sindarin."

"It's very similar to the texts I translated for the university."

"I have not heard of universities?"

"They're huge centers of learning, with hundreds to thousands of students," Charlotte said. "Normally, you spend years learning general knowledge, and then you can apply for university if you want."

The lord looked intrigued by the idea, but Galadriel shifted the topic. "That is a lovely necklace, Charlotte."

Charlotte glanced down at the glittering stone glowing in the antlered setting. She realized she had been smoothing her fingers over the tines as she spoke. "Thank you, it was a gift from my mother."

"Is your mother from our world?" Galadriel asked.

Charlotte shook her head. "She was born in Virginia and lived there her whole life. She said a stranger gave it to her, but I've no idea where she got it."

Galadriel's eyes held, and Charlotte felt the intensity of her stare. "Indeed," was all the lady said.

"I see what you mean, Mother," the young elf woman said from beside Galadriel. Charlotte remembered her name was Celebrían. "The necklace is definitely of elvish make. Were there many elves in Virginia?"

Charlotte snorted. "Elves are stories where I'm from. Orcs don't exist either. This is likely just a really convincing costume piece. We couldn't afford expensive stones the size of this."

Galadriel's lips quirked, and she rose from the settee by the window. "May I?" she asked, inclining her head toward the necklace. "You do not have to remove it if you wish." Charlotte acquiesced, and Galadriel scooped the stone into her dainty fingers and closed her eyes. "The stone has power," she said. Her eyes danced behind her lids. "Though I cannot access it. Nor determine from whence it came. It is unlike anything I have seen on this side of the sea."

Charlotte caught the look shared between the Lord Elrond and the lady. "But you've seen it before? On some continent across the sea?" She glanced down at the lady's hand to study the ring there. Its design was simple but elegant: the band was silver, much like Charlotte's necklace, and consisted of a flower-shaped cage that held a small glowing diamond. "Is this where you found the stone that's in your ring?"

For the first time since Charlotte had met her, Galadriel seemed shocked. A quick look around the room confirmed that all the elves had lost their peaceful facade. Except for the Elvenking. He smirked from his position, leaning against the bookshelves running across the long wall at the back of the office.

"What does it look like?" Galadriel held her hand aloft, allowing Charlotte a closer look at the stone.

"Like a diamond, probably the best diamond I've ever seen. Set into a flower," Charlotte shrugged and turned to the master of the house. "It glows like Lord Elrond's ring."

This caused a further commotion. "How can she see them both?" The elf, Amorth asked.

"What does this mean, _Nana_?" Celebrían moved to her mother's side.

Lady Galadriel was silent at first, her eyes glazed as she stared through the open windows as if seeking an answer from the night. "I think that is obvious." She turned to the room at large. "An elleth from a different world appears on the borders with an Elven necklace and a stone of power just as we have all assembled for the wedding. The rings of power cannot be hidden from her sight, either because of her rebirth or the stone she carries. Her light is bright, as bright as that of Glorfindel's."

Elrond's expression was solemn, and Charlotte could hardly believe what he said next. "It is clear that she has been unknowingly sent on a quest by the Valar."

Charlotte ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging some of the intricate braids. Quest! She was a research assistant. She made quests for coffee for grumpy professors, not magical Elven journeys. She said as much to Galadriel, who waved off her concerns.

"The Valar would not have chosen you without reason," she said. "While your task is not clear to me, I'm confident I can guess your direction."

Elrond was nodding as well, "You must journey with Thranduil to the Greenwood. There you will perhaps uncover your purpose."

Thranduil lost his smirk. He bolted from the shelves, scowling, "I will not risk the safety of my people on an outsider. What suggests that the Valar have deemed this?"

Galadriel, who seemed to enjoy riling the king, grinned, "Have you not pieced it together yourself?"

"Do not test him, Lady," Amroth drawled. "You know better than most how it will end." At some point, he had pulled an ornate dagger out and was polishing it with a small cloth.

"I was fond of that vase," Galadriel sniffed. "It was a gift from my Adar on my fiftieth birthday and could not be mended or replaced."

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Please, control yourselves, there are priceless texts here, and I do not wish to see them shredded or burned in your match."

Thranduil's face smoothed, save for a single raised eyebrow, a silent challenge to the lady. "I am still waiting for your explanation, Lady."

"She bears your emblem," Elrond said, impatient with their bickering. "I'm sure you recognize the elk antlers that hold the stone, and she rode in moments behind _your_ company on a rather large elk. Are those not signs enough?"

"I care little for the Valar's signs and their mortal plaything," He spat. "Where were the Valar when my people were slaughtered outside of that accursed land? When the monster they allowed to form destroyed the citizens of my realm? I have no interest in engaging in another of their quests."

"Your realm was not the only to suffer!" Galadriel hissed.

"My realm was not shielded by a ring of power!" Thranduil turned from them all.

Charlotte watched his shoulders hitch, the muscles tensing along his neck, and felt rage. How dare he call her the plaything of some deity? She had no desire to aid him with anything, even if she could. Her opinion was firmly fixed: Thranduil was haughty, rude, and stubborn, and she'd find her way home long before she agreed to go anywhere with him.

Amroth, the calmest of the group besides the silent Celebrían, tucked his shining dagger into his boot, stood, and placed his large hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "Perhaps this is their aid," Amroth said. "Would you shun it now, because it did not arrive sooner? When, as you say, your people need assistance and hope the most of us all?"

The tension melted off of Thranduil, giving him the appearance of being deflated. "Very well," he said, although he still didn't turn away from the shelves of leather-bound books. "I will take her to Greenwood after the wedding."

"In the meantime, she will, of course, stay here while we arrange supplies for her travel." Elrond motioned to the last elf, who had been so quiet, Charlotte had forgotten him. "Lindir, would you be willing to see to the arrangements?"

At this point, Charlotte reached her limit. "Now wait just a moment! I haven't agreed to any of this. I am not some magical godsent human destined to save imaginary elves. I'm going home, to Virginia, where I belong."

The room was silent, although they looked more confused than angry at her outburst. Celebrían bit her lip before she said in her sweet, gentle voice, "Charlotte, you are not human. Were you human before? In Virginia?"

"Before?" Charlotte took a step back. "There is no 'before.' I am human. I've always been human."

Celebrían gave her such an intense look of pity that Charlotte instantly bristled. The stunned crowd had deferred this conversation to the young sweet elven woman, who grasped Charlotte's hand and pulled her to a pedestal beside Elrond's desk. A bowl filled with water balanced on top of the short stone column. It was likely a quick place for the lord to clean his hands or splash his face, but Celebrían intended it as a mirror. "Look," she said, squeezing Charlotte's hand.

Charlotte stifled a gasp. The woman in the still water certainly looked like her, except this was a sharper, perfected version. A revised copy of the original. Her cheekbones were more defined, her face shaped in a perfect heart. And her hair! How had she not noticed the extra inches it had suddenly grown? Her eyes, thankfully, were still the same forest green as her mother's. The most damning evidence, however, was the pointed ears poking from beneath her unruly curls.

She wasn't entirely sure what she said as she fled the room, although she thought she'd politely excused herself in some way. She needed fresh air. Just a quick chance to think. Her gown fluttered as she rushed past the curious stares of the elves that wandered the hallway.

The halls were beautiful but confusing. She often thought she had finally found a path out of the house, only to cross through a small courtyard into another corridor. The arching columns and vine carvings that covered the walls and ceilings meant that everything looked the same. Charlotte asked a random elf at one point: "Please, how do I get outside?" But he had responded with a confused expression and a regretful string of Elvish.

Fortunately, Celebrían found her shortly after. "Charlotte, wait!"

Desperate enough for any assistance, Charlotte asked, "Please, I just need to be outside."

To her credit, Celebrían didn't hesitate. She looped an arm through Charlotte's and quickly guided her through the corridors and out into the night air. After seating Charlotte on a stone bench in one of the many gardens that overlooked the falls, Celebrían enveloped Charlotte's hands in her own.

"I cannot imagine what you're feeling right now," the young elf said. Her thumbs rubbed across Charlotte's chilled fingers in a soothing rhythm. "To be so far away from home and all that you are familiar with, it must be frightening."

"I'm not supposed to be here," Charlotte whispered. "I'm not some special warrior princess sent to destroy evil. Places like this… elves… orcs… they're not real. I can't help but worry. What if I'm like my mother? What if this is my mind slipping away from me?"

"You are strong, Charlotte. From your tale, you have already been through so much," Celebrían said. "I am as real as you. I can assure you, your mind is intact. How can I help you through this?"

"Is there any way for me to go home?"

Celebrían squeezed her hands tightly. "I am so sorry. There is not. We have only had one recorded instance of elven rebirth: the Lord Glorfindel. The Valar spoke to him of his task before he sailed from the Undying Lands to Middle Earth, and they were adamant that he would stay here until the line of Elrond Peredhel left this land. I wish, for your sake, that you had received such council on your own task."

Charlotte sniffled and felt her eyes burn. She had lost her mother and her home in the space of a day. All of the mementos of her mother, save the necklace she wore, were beyond her reach. And Charlotte wasn't sure what hurt worse: that she had lost her home or that the life she left behind wasn't worth much to her now that her mother was gone. What did she have besides her work and the care of her mother?

Still, staying in some realistic rendition of a medieval cosplay settlement didn't sound tempting either. She had no applicable skills that would enable her to survive such a life! She said as much to her companion.

"Elves are wonderful teachers," Celebrían soothed. "We will teach you all you need to know."

"That would be difficult since I don't even speak the language."

"You will learn it, and, since you say it sounds so similar to a language you already know, perhaps you will learn it quickly. There are many of our people who speak the Common Tongue, and King Thranduil will have someone who will be able to work with you on acquiring the language."

"I hardly want to go anywhere with him," Charlotte huffed.

Celebrían's smile was soft. "Thranduil is not like the other elves here, although he is Sindarin. Here we are artists, philosophers, and craftsmen first and warriors second. While Thranduil's people, the Silvan Elves, are all of these things, they are decidedly more... passionate and wild. And certainly more dangerous."

"More danger is hardly a convincing argument."

"Give him a chance," she insisted. "He is correct: his people have faced great losses. _He_ has faced great losses and has sacrificed much for his people."

"I could probably more easily forgive his rudeness had he not so quickly insulted me when he knows nothing about me. I would rather not travel with him anywhere."

"Talk to him tomorrow. I am sure you will change your mind," she said. "Do not reject my advice so soon. You are tired and need rest. Come. I will show you to a guest room near my own."

Celebrían was a peaceful and silent companion as she escorted Charlotte through the mansion, down the winding corridors, to a row of round wooden doors set on the inside of a windowed hallway. "If you need me, I am staying in the next room. You are welcome, no matter the time. I wish to be a friend to you if you will let me."

Charlotte couldn't remember the last time she'd had a true friend. Her schedule hadn't been conducive to maintaining relationships. "I'd like that," she finally said.

The other elleth smiled. "Goodnight then, Charlotte. _Samho amdir._"

"Oh! That reminds me: you all spoke Common Tongue to me when I arrived, even though I look like an elf."

Celebrían's chuckle was soft. "The border patrol heard you speaking common to your elk, and the Lord Elrond called out to you twice in Elvish, but switched when you did not respond. It was actually King Thranduil who suggested you did not speak Sindarin." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Charlotte took the gentle nudge. "I'll talk to him tomorrow," she conceded. "I promise."

Unlike her mother, Celebrían didn't gloat at her victory. She smiled softly, squeezed Charlotte's hand once more, and pushed the heavy oak door that shielded Charlotte's chamber from the drafty corridor. "Sleep well, friend," she said, before vanishing behind her own rounded door.

"Sleep well," Charlotte whispered.

.

.

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AN: In the next chapter, we'll get into the scene that inspired this story. Thank you for the reviews! They are motivating and encourage me to continue writing and revising even when I feel like the words aren't coming out the way I want them. -NC

Translations:

_Boe i 'waen_. I must go.

_No dirweg_. Be careful.

_Nana_ [informal version of Mother] Mom/Mama/Mommy

_Samho amdir. _ Have hope.


	5. An Unexpected Conversation

Finding the stables had been much more embarrassing than Charlotte could have anticipated. She had slipped from her room just as the first pink rays of dawn broke over the valley, slowly pulling her door shut to avoid waking Celebrían. The other woman was kind and sweet, but Charlotte needed some time alone. Then came the difficult task of navigating the estate.

The mansion was bustling with energy as the elves prepared for the wedding ceremony the Lady Galadriel had mentioned the night before. Charlotte passed several harried elves carrying floral arrangements, linens, gold-rimmed plates, and, at one point, a carved wooden archway.

She had already been wandering for over ten minutes when she finally decided she needed to ask for help, and a man carrying an entire tray of crisp rosemary-scented bread loaves popped around the corner.

Remembering that most elves did not speak Common Tongue, she mimed her intentions with the hope of being understood. "Which way to the stables?" She asked while holding her hands in front of her as if she were grasping reins and bouncing in a gallop's soft imitation.

A flush warmed her cheeks when the grinning elf pointed to the corridor behind him and gave her directions in Common Tongue. She'd chuckled, thanked him, and committed to confirming that any elves she spoke to didn't speak her language before resorting to charades.

Finding the stables was simple after that, and she reached the collection of buildings nestled in the cradle of the valley before the sun had cleared the mountains. Without needing to ask or mime, an elf mucking the stalls and pulling in fresh hay paused his work to guide her toward the largest of the three stables. Two small barns flanked a worn field where she could already see an elf guiding a pristine white Andalusian through morning exercises. The last and largest stable nestled perpendicular between its smaller counterparts, forming a U-shape that encompassed the small field.

The interior was constructed with dark oak wood, delicately carved with vines and leaves, so the towering columns that lined each side of the broad center aisle gave the illusion of an avenue of oak trees sprouting from the earth and their thick boughs embracing to comprise the roof of the cavernous building.

Stalls were erected in between the columns, and most were occupied with stunning horses with shining coats of chocolate, brilliant white, and grey dappled with sooty smudges across their flanks. Their neatly brushed tails swished lazily as they dug into their breakfasts, and not a single horse glanced up as she was escorted to the final stall in the back, though their flickering ears indicated they were aware of her presence and didn't care.

When her guide deposited her in front of the stall's low arched door, her elk was happily munching on a full woven basket of clover.

"A reward for his heroism." Gwenestadren, the elf in charge of his care, popped up from his examination of the elk's injured foreleg. "He's healing well," he assured her. "It was shallower than it first appeared. He should be ok to return to his home after he finishes his treat. I will wrap his wound, but he ripped off the last one, so I do not expect it to stay long."

He made quick work of bandaging the elk, gave Charlotte a slight bow, and vanished, leaving Charlotte alone with her rescuer.

The elk dwarfed the small stall, and Charlotte was surprised at how calm he was in the enclosure. The day before had been so overwhelming she hadn't had the time to really examine him. Now she was packed too close to see all of him at once. His height meant she was looking up into his chin each time he lifted his mouth from the basket.

He did look better than the night before. Her makeshift bandage had obviously been removed from his foreleg and replaced with a clean strip of linen. The strong sweet scent that pervaded the stall hinted that the elk received the same poultice as she had, and he seemed to have no issues with bearing his weight on his injured leg. Elvish medicine was clearly beyond what she expected for a medieval era civilization.

Noticing her inspection, he turned his massive head to gaze at her. His silver eyes studied her for a moment before he shocked her by thrusting his wet nose into her neck.

"What are you doing?" She craned her head back as she heard him sniff and felt his nose twitch. "I'm not going to lie; you're enormous, but that is absolutely adorable how your cute little nose quivers like that."

He jerked his head up, whacking an antler on a column. It gouged a vine and eradicated one of the exquisite leaves. Charlotte hoped the Lord wouldn't notice. The elves of Imladris didn't seem like the kind of people that would possess imperfections in their art. The elk stared at it briefly, and Charlotte watched the creature's mouth twitch in pleasure before the expression vanished, and he glared at her.

"Don't look so offended. It's a compliment."

He snorted and then stamped his hoof before lowering his head again. This time he nudged her right foot and looked up. When she didn't say anything, he stamped again and pushed her foot with his nose.

"Now, what are you doing?" She shuffled away from the probing nostrils. The elk tilted his head. "My feet? They're sore. The Lord Elrond bandaged them up and smoothed some poultice on it, stopping the burning. The boots fit a bit better this morning, so the swelling is down, I guess." She shrugged and then rubbed her arms.

There had been no cloak or coat when she woke in her chambers, shivering under the thin linen bed sheet, and after the hike to the valley floor, she was covered in a light sheen of sweat that seemed determined to frost her in the cold air blowing through the open stable doors. At least the cool breeze and the low temperature kept the smell of horse and manure to a minimum.

The elk nudged her again.

"We need to come up with some kind of code besides pushing on me." Charlotte huffed and hesitantly reached out to run her hand down his muzzle. He froze at first, but then his eyes drooped closed. "And probably a name for you," Charlotte said and smoothed her hand down his neck. "You're far too intelligent to not have a name. Are all the animals here like you?"

She immediately tossed that thought out. The horses she'd passed on the way to his stall seemed to possess no extra awareness beyond that of an average horse. "I know one thing for sure," she smiled, "I would love to have warm fur like yours. Nobody here seems to be particularly bothered by the cold, but I've been shivering since I got here. I guess I'm not a very good elf, huh?"

Her eyes burned, and she swiped angrily at the tears rolling over her lashes. "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I can't survive here. I don't know anything about this place. I can't wield a sword or speak the language, and I'm supposed to be some godsent questing hero for the King, and he's so rude! You should have heard him last night acting like I was interloper poised to destroy his precious invitation-only kingdom."

She scrunched her nose and bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. "Imladris is beautiful, and maybe this King's land will be stunning too. I've always wanted to travel, but I don't think there is any sight in the world worth putting up with his haughty Royal Highness. And going anywhere with him would mean giving up on going home. My mother's things are all I have left of her. I don't even have a photo of her."

The elk was anxiously shifting his forelegs and staring at her with wide, panicked eyes.

She let out a watery chuckle at his expression, took a deep shuddering breath, and shoved the tempest swirling inside her down into a small box in her heart and locked it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

He took an uncertain step, and then with a swell of confidence in his eyes, he surged forward until she was face first in his chest, and he settled his furry head over her shoulders, carefully avoiding smacking her with his rough antlers. Charlotte burrowed her face into his silver fur. It was soft and glossy with hints of the thick undercoat to come, and it smelled like pine and lavender. She sighed happily in the warmth.

"Did they bathe you?" She asked, and his chest seemed to purr in answer. She wrapped her arms around herself and cuddled into the breathing blanket of fur. "What do I do now? There's nothing back there for me but memories. Not anymore. I haven't spoken to my sister in almost a decade, and I don't think I'd be able to forgive her for deserting us anyway."

The storm she'd locked in her heart rattled against its confines, but Charlotte refused to hear it. Instead, she lost herself in the soothing motion of her fingers through the elk's hair, and she whiled away the morning, eventually curling against the elk like a pillow after he settled in the corner of his stall with his legs neatly tucked beneath him. He laid his great head on the straw bed and partially shielded her from view with his enormous antlers while he protected her from the cold with his thick coat. It was easy for her to drift off into a peaceful slumber against his soft fur and rumbling chest.

It was the shouting that woke her.

"He has not heard the call of the sea! I dare not take him." The woman's voice was angry and sharp, and Charlotte peeked through the elk's antlers to find the source. She had to shift around him when he shoved his own head up at the next voice.

"Feeling the sea's summoning is not a requirement for traveling west." King Thranduil paced in front of the stall door, and Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face. He would not be pleased for her to overhear this.

She vacillated between announcing her presence and hunkering down until they passed by with her unnoticed, but with growing horror, she realized that they had hidden at the end of the stable on purpose for privacy and likely switched to the less understood Common Tongue for the same reason. Yet here she was accidentally thwarting both measures.

"All the same, I will not take him," the elven woman said. "His fate is far better in your hands." Charlotte couldn't see her face since the elf had her back to the stall, but the woman was nearly as tall as Thranduil. Where he had broad shoulders and a lean predator's figure draped in extravagant robes, she was as thin and willowy as a breeze, with long blonde hair that fell down her back until the stall door blocked it from view. She had obviously been traveling as her spring green gown was coated with a layer of dust from the road.

"Better?" Thranduil seethed. "Without his mother? I have no one able to assist in raising him and a wounded kingdom fleeing from the darkness eating our southern border. Sauron may be vanquished, but orcs and wargs still roam. Yesterday they hunted a young elleth on the plains, and she was lucky to have escaped."

"The Woodland Realm should have sufficient troops to guard an elfling."

"Even the elves of the Greenwood can be outnumbered. Or have you already forgotten the hundreds of us slaughtered at Dagorlad, Nemir?"

"I could not forget it, though I have tried for over a century," Nemir hissed. "I need no further reminders of my agony from you or any other."

"Your agony?" His eyebrows rose, his expression thunderous. "What agony do you have to speak of? You were not on the plains in the shadow of Mordor. Since the birth of our son, you have remained coddled and sequestered in the Havens. What do you know of loss as I- as my, no, _our_ people- have suffered? What grief of yours can compare to the losses the citizens of the Woodland Realm have faced? The realm you are supposed to be the queen of?"

"I do not want your kingdom!"

"Then what do you want?"

"Iruion!"

"Pardon?"

"Iruion. I met him after I returned to Lindon," she said softly. "He was everything…"

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "What you already had was insufficient?"

"We bonded, Thranduil."

The king froze. His face fell slack. "You forsook our oath?"

"Empty promises meant to unite two peoples, and I have served my century demanded by the contract!" Her arms crossed. "We tried for peace, prayed to the Valar for love, and gained misery and hate in their stead."

"We gained Legolas!"

"He should have been Iruion's child!" She screamed.

Thranduil looked like he'd been walloped over the head, and Charlotte felt the stirrings of pity for the king before he buried the expression beneath a cold mask. "Nemir, you cannot just abandon your son."

"And yet, I cannot stay with him." She turned her back on the king, and Charlotte watched the woman's shoulders hitch and the grief track down her cheeks. "My heart is heavy, and though you condemn me for my sorrow, I have never held the bond I should have with Legolas, though I have tried. Your son tramples my soul with the knowledge that, if not for the farce of our promised union, I could have possibly savored hundreds of years, thousands perhaps, with my fëa mate and our children born of love instead of duty. I cannot gaze at your son, with all of your features so plainly visible, without seeing all that I should have possessed."

"It is clear that you possessed far more than you deserved." Thranduil took a firm step back from her. He ripped something from the index finger of his right hand and cast it at Nemir's feet. Charlotte could see the silver ring glinting against the dark wood through the narrow gap under the door. "I renounce our vows with the Valar as my witnesses and strip you of all titles within _Eryn Galen. _You are no ruler for my people, and they will not grieve over their long-absent promised queen."

"I care not." Nemir scooped up the ring, before calmly twisting a matching band from her own hand and holding it out to him.

"That is the entirety of the issue," he said and plucked it from her narrow fingers, neatly avoiding contact with her skin. "May your selfishness soothe your traitorous heart in Valinor."

"Think what you will, Thranduil," she turned, casting the last words out into the bright afternoon sun pouring through the stable doors. "I have suffered enough, and though I do not love him as a _naneth_ should, I care for him enough to know that I am not sufficient for him."

Thranduil seemed tempted to chase after her, but he remained rooted to the spot, as still as the columns that held the vast roof of the stable. Charlotte was quickly running into another issue: the elk was shifting, moving his legs under him as if to stand. She panicked. There was no place to hide in the small stall, and Thranduil would be furious to discover an interloper.

The king glanced at the silver band in his hand, shoved it into his robes, and strode off with his cape thrashing in his wake.

Charlotte almost moaned with relief. "You nearly got me caught," she said to the elk and pursed her lips in disapproval. She quickly softened when she caught the poor animal's heartbroken expression. "I know. I'm not sure who I feel more sorry for right now." Her hand smoothed the hairs on his neck though it seemed to do little to calm him. "Woah, big guy, you can't go breaking down the stall doors. Here, let me open it for you."

She pushed the latch free and glided the wood open, allowing him to saunter out. "I supposed this is where you go back home?" She shuffled her feet through the clean straw. "Thank you again for saving my life. I've only known you for a short while, but I'm going to miss you."

The elk cocked his head to the side, before nudging her again with his wet nose.

"Go on then," Charlotte smiled. "Be free and whatnot. You've been away from home long enough, I'd say. Who will rescue strange damsels with you holed up here eating your weight in clover?"

He snorted at her, his great antlers swaying above him, and turned. He was through the stable doors and into the training field, passing a crowd of newly arrived horses waiting to be led to the smaller barns, and beyond her sight, before she bothered to start the long journey up the mountain to the main house. She had questions and knew at least two elves who would be willing to answer them.

But Charlotte could not consult Celebrían or Elrond when she arrived at the Lord's house. The doors were flung wide open, and the stairs were illuminated by squat candles floating in shallow bowls of glittering water. A large group of Elven women was singing, their voices bright and high, as they took turns releasing tiny silver and gold flowers to swim in the dishes.

A little voice whispered near Charlotte's hip, "You're supposed to say a prayer to the Valar for the Lady Celebrían and Lord Elrond, and then place the flower in the bowl."

She glanced down and found a small elven boy staring at her with a solemn expression. He was dressed impeccably for a child, with not a wrinkle or grass stain in sight. His neat forest green leggings and silver tunic were immaculate, and his waist-length blonde hair was pin-straight with sections on each side pulled back into simple braids. He couldn't be more than six or seven by Charlotte's estimation.

The little elf was studying her in return, and finally resolutely nodded his head. "Adar says you're a strange elf, but I think you look nice." He lowered his voice, "He also says Lord Elrond is a 'sanctimonious meddler,' but he's nice too. If you ask him politely, he will sneak you to the kitchens for oatcakes and honey at night."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you." Charlotte laughed. "And how did you know I was this 'strange elf' your Adar mentioned? And what _is_ an Adar?"

The young elf laughed loudly, and a few of the women paused their singing to smile indulgently at him. "Adar is my father, King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, and my Naneth is Princess Nemir of Lindon." He grinned proudly, displaying two cute dimples at each side of his mouth. "And I'm Legolas of… well, of both, I guess."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Legolas of 'Both.' I'm Charlotte." Charlotte gave him a dramatic curtsey, which only ensured another round of giggles from the boy.

"See?" He said. "It's obvious you're my Adar's strange elf: you even curtsey funny! And you have straw in your hair. My naneth says, 'A prince is a representative of his people and must be presentable at all times.'" He recited, before taking a huge breath and barreling onward. "She would never let me play in the stables. Is it true you have a giant elk? Can you really talk to it? I saw one once when Naneth and I visited Adar in the Greenwood, but he was a small elk, and Lindir said your elk was taller than my Adar. Do you think Naneth will let me go with you to meet him?"

"Oh." Charlotte's brows creased with worry, and she dropped to meet his eyes with her own. "I'm so sorry, Legolas. I set him free earlier, and he's on his way home."

Legolas frowned, and Charlotte was sure she'd have a sobbing elfing on her hands, but he smiled and placed a hand on her arm as if to soothe her. "It's alright," he said. "I'm sure he'll come back soon. Lindir said he saved you from the _yrch. Y_our elk won't abandon you."

"Sometimes those we love must leave us, even when we wish they could stay," Charlotte said, thinking of her own mother and the grief she kept carefully tucked away. She realized that Legolas would soon learn this lesson as well, based on the argument she had overheard in the stable, and her heart broke for him. She couldn't imagine the sweet elfing who comforted her over the departure of her erstwhile elk companion facing the swell of agony that continually threatened to drown her.

He was oblivious to her turmoil and instead thoughtfully asked, "Have you given him a name yet? All the best horses in the stories have names. I don't have a horse of my own yet, but when I do, I'm going to name him _Limlug_! It means 'sea serpent.'" His twin dimples were back, and Charlotte felt herself fall the tiniest bit in love.

"_Ion nín_?" King Thranduil stood at the top of the steps, and Charlotte noticed the singing elves had left. The king had changed since the altercation in the stable and wore a heavy silk robe with a matching charcoal cloak that trailed regally behind him as he descended. He unfolded his arms to beckon to Legolas, and Charlotte saw the cloak's underside was a shiny blood red. She thought the ensemble made him look like he was smoldering. His silver eyes met hers for a breath, and she corrected herself: he was aflame.

Legolas shuffled slowly to meet Thranduil at the base of the steps. "Yes, Adar?" He said. His eyes were intently focused on his feet.

"A prince should make eye contact with the elf he is speaking to, Legolas."

Legolas sighed and briefly glanced up. "Yes, Adar."

"Go inside," Thranduil twisted his head toward the mansion's open doors. "I will see you in five minutes in your room."

Legolas bounded up the stairs without a word, turning just inside the doors to send a quick wave to Charlotte.

"You should prepare yourself for the wedding," the king said as if he were commenting on the weather.

"I didn't think I was invited."

"All here are welcome." He pulled his cloak closer to his body. "And Lindir has been searching for you for an hour. I believe he has found a formal gown for you to wear."

Charlotte grimaced. She hated that poor Lindir had been wasting his time tracking her down when he no doubt would have ordinarily been helping the Lord Elrond prepare for the ceremony. She hitched up her skirts and took the steps two at a time, intending to head straight for her room. Thranduil's rich voice froze her at the top of the stairs.

"Lady Charlotte?" He had turned slightly toward her, and his head arched gracefully over his shoulder. His silver eyes locked on her green ones. "You have straw in your hair, you know? You may want to clean up before the ceremony."

Charlotte glared at him. It was drastically less cute when _he_ pointed it out. Why hadn't she pulled the offending straw out when Legolas first mentioned it? Thranduil's lip twitched, and she spun in a whirl of skirts before she could catch the full-blown grin that softened his face.

.

.

.

Translations:

Adar: (formal) Father

Naneth: (formal) Mother

_ion_ _nín_: My son

_yrch_: (plural) Orcs

AN: I need your opinion. This story is set in the 109 of the Third Age and won't likely cover the events of _The Hobbit_. But Thranduil is only an active character in _The Hobbit_, though he gets a brief mention in the _Lord of the Rings_ story as Legolas's father. I want to make sure it's in the correct category because I've been hearing of some instances of stories being reported for the incorrect category. So for the sake of being nit-picky, I suppose: what do you, the readers, think? Should I move this to the _Lord of the Rings_ category or stay here in _The Hobbit_? It would be a quick story description change, and shouldn't affect your follows/favorites/reviews/alerts. Let me know in the comments. I always look forward to hearing your thoughts on the story! Thank you.


	6. Weddings and Ill Wishes

The dress Lindir had acquired actually belonged to the bride who had graciously bestowed the gown on her new friend. It was tighter across the hips and bust than it was likely designed to be, but Lindir declared that it would have to do, and Charlotte certainly wasn't going to complain. Especially since the frazzled elf had indeed been looking for her for well over an hour.

"Lady Charlotte, at last!" He said when she appeared in the corridor of the guest wing. Two female elves glided dutifully behind him, one carrying a neatly tucked bundle of dark blue glossy fabric and the other gracefully balancing a large metal tray with a domed lid.

The entire entourage swept into her chamber with an air of determination, and Charlotte soon felt sorry for the bride. If a lowly stranger received this much attention to prepare her for the wedding, the bride herself must be overrun.

Lindir had a strict schedule for Charlotte and left his two assistants to rush her through her preparations while he went to manage his lord. The women, who Lindir introduced as Meluieth and Eithoril, had her quickly fed with an assortment of bread, cheeses, and berries, and were ushering her into a tepid bath before she could touch the tiny glass of dark red wine that accompanied her meal.

"Apologies, my lady," Meluieth said in Common Tongue. Her delicate features scrunched on her pale face. "The water was heated and brought in earlier, but we could not find you."

"No worries." Charlotte smiled. It wasn't their fault she had been avoiding her new reality. "If anything, I should apologize to you. I'm afraid I was tucked away in the stable for most of the day."

Eithoril rolled her eyes and murmured a quick string of Elvish that caused Meluieth to shoot her a glare.

"Excuse me?" Charlotte asked. When no answer was forthcoming, she tried Meluieth instead. "What did she say? I don't understand."

"Eithoril will be returning to assist her lady," Meluieth sniffed. "She is no longer necessary here."

Tiny Meluieth shooed her affronted companion from the chamber and came back with a grin. "Don't mind her," she said. "We're not all like that, I promise. You will see."

Something in her phrasing caught Charlotte's attention. "Aren't you one of Lord Elrond's elves?" Charlotte followed her to the large copper tub situated near one of the high windows looking up at the mountainside. She had a sponge bath the night before, and she was looking forward to being truly clean, but dreading sitting in the cool water with the late autumn wind blowing across her wet skin.

Meluieth tapped the high back of the copper and nodded to the water. "In with you, and I'll help with your hair and answer your questions."

"Really, I can bathe myself," Charlotte argued. "If you just want to wait outside, I'll be quick."

"Lindir has left me in charge of your care, and I'll not disgrace my King by shirking my duties." She smiled to soften the rejection. "Please."

Charlotte prevaricated a moment longer, before Meluieth added, "Besides, you still have straw in your hair."

That settled it. Charlotte groaned. She would not have that pompous blonde king poking at her again. "I'm not used to my hair being this long or this thick," she said once she had allowed Meluieth to strip off her gown and underclothes and guide her into the now-cold water. She debated removing her antlered necklace but decided at the last second to leave it on. Meluieth didn't hesitate and was already combing through Charlotte's elongated locks to pry out every bit of straw once she was settled in the tub.

"It does look lovely though," Meluieth said. "When you're not hosting the horses' meals in it."

Charlotte laughed. "Technically, it was an elk's meal, or perhaps his bedding. He seemed rather picky to be honest."

She felt her heart clench a little and sighed. Of course, she would get attached after only a few hours with the creature. The elk did save her life, but there was also something wise and gentle about him. Something that felt like home. She would miss that feeling now that he had returned to the wild where he belonged.

And that begged the next question: Where did she belong?

Charlotte decided that she did not want to think about that for the night, and instead prodded Meluieth for information. "How long have you been in Imladris?"

"Only a night," Meluieth handed her a coarse hunk of lavender-scented soap, "We arrived last night, just before you actually. You can scrub yourself with that while I work on your hair."

"You mentioned the King earlier, so you're from the Greenwood?"

"There are actually two kings present for the wedding: King Thranduil of _Eryn Galen_ and King Amroth of _Lórinand_."

"Are they the only elven kings or the only ones in attendance?"

"You're quick," Meluieth said. She was running her fingers through Charlotte's hair, and a robust lavender scent filled the air. "Just over a hundred years ago, we lost the High King, Ereinion Gil-galad in battle. His one daughter, the Princess of Lindon, remains with us. You'll likely see her at the wedding."

Charlotte thought back to her brief conversation with Legolas and asked, "Is there more than one Princess of Lindon?"

"She's the last of her line, although there is the young Legolas. However, he's not in line for that throne."

"But I saw her earlier. She looked so young! How is it possible that her father died over a hundred years ago, but she looks like she's in her twenties?"

Meluieth laughed and scooped water from the tub with a tall copper pitcher. "I am 3,042 years old this winter." Charlotte gasped and spun to study her companion, and Meluieth dumped the pitcher over her at the same time. "You're not supposed to drink it," Meluieth clucked her tongue and scooped up a second pitcher to finish rinsing the soap from Charlotte's hair.

"They said you were human before," she continued. "I suppose a few thousand years of life would be a bit shocking."

"Just a bit."

"How old were you before you…" she hesitated, "arrived here?"

"Twenty-seven. Although I was born in May and it was February or winter when I left, and now it seems to be autumn. I guess if I'm still here in the spring, I don't know how old I'll be exactly because I've either skipped most of the year, or I'm reliving it."

Meluieth's hands had frozen in Charlotte's hair. "Twenty-seven?" She said, stunned. "You're barely older than little Prince Legolas. He's twenty-two."

"This is going to get so confusing. I thought he was maybe seven."

"He can act like it sometimes," Meluieth said, and there was a note of familiarity there. She shook her head before she added cheerfully, "Not to worry, elves do not celebrate birthdays. We celebrate begetting days. You can use the day the Valar' beget' you into our world as an elf."

Charlotte groaned, "By that math, I'll be even younger. I've only been an elf for less than two days."

"We will figure it out. Let's get you dried off and into your gown before you're late for the ceremony. We leave tomorrow to return to the Greenwood, and I can answer your questions on the journey."

Charlotte didn't bother to tell Meluieth that she hadn't decided to travel to the Greenwood. Meluieth's promise of going with her officially established that the woman was a member of King Thranduil's retinue, and it concerned her that she was already being assimilated into the king's party. Otherwise, she would have been assigned a lady's maid from Lord Elrond's staff.

With Meluieth's assistance, she was quickly dried and dressed in the dark blue silk gown, and the much-older woman combed through Charlotte's hair and pulled the sections at her temples into intricate braids, weaving delicate blue flowers into the dark strands as she went. "I wish we had a circlet for you," she said once she'd finished her task and offered Charlotte a mirror. "You truly look like a noble lady."

"I don't feel much like one."

"Nonsense." Meluieth smiled gently and took the mirror. "The Valar have sent you for a reason, Charlotte. We have only had one reborn elf return to Middle Earth, and he has guarded the Lord Elrond and the elves of Imladris faithfully. Our deities have chosen you to complete an important task here, and to many, that will be enough cause to consider you a member of the nobility."

"Thank you," Charlotte said with a sigh. She was interrupted from saying any more when there was a firm knock on the door.

"And there is your escort," Meluieth clapped her hands and shooed Charlotte toward the door. "Lindir arranged for someone to accompany you to the ceremony."

"Who?" Charlotte asked, but Meluieth grinned and wiggled her brows. "You are going to be a handful, I can tell already."

"And you'll enjoy every moment with me." Meluieth's laugh was musical.

The visitor knocked again, and Charlotte heard a vaguely familiar voice call, "My lady?"

When she opened the door, Charlotte saw a silver circlet balanced on thick pale hair, and she panicked. But then she realized the hair was silver and not the gentle pale gold of Thranduil's, and her eyes registered the friendly blue eyes of the Elvenking before her. Amroth was dressed in midnight blue to match her gown, though his robe was edged in gold. She watched as his pink lips quirked, and his eyes glittered with mirth, and she flushed at being caught staring and hastily dipped into a clumsy curtsy.

His laugh was infectious, although it did not escape Charlotte that he was laughing at her. "Prince Legolas is correct," He said, and his gentle smile clearly told her that he was teasing her. "You are terrible at curtseying."

Charlotte shrugged and grinned. "It's the thought that counts?"

"Your respect is noted and appreciated." He bowed shortly. "Although your status is unheard of, most will agree that you should bow to no one."

"Most?" She raised a single brow.

It was his turn to shrug, but there was a darkness that overtook his previously carefree expression. "There are always purists in every society, though their attitude is largely unwelcome. You'll find little issue in your origins from those that matter."

That left Charlotte worrying. Having a magical quest was one thing; the possibility of being considered a second-class citizen or an imposter because she was initially mortal was another matter entirely. But King Amroth wasn't one to focus on the negatives and offered his arm with a flourish. "Shall we?"

Charlotte looped her arm through his and felt the muscles clench beneath the thick fabric of his sleeves. He was certainly attractive, and friendlier than the other royal elf in Charlotte's opinion.

Hearing steps behind her, she glanced over her shoulder to find Meluieth's toothy grin, and she worried about the meaning behind the woman's wagging brows. The elves seemed so refined and dignified. Charlotte felt the heat rise to her face. What if their weddings were the opposite? What if she was wandering foolishly into a night of debauchery?

"Have a pleasant evening, my lord," Meluieth dipped into a graceful curtsy that Charlotte envied. "I'll be in to help you dress in the morning, my lady." She vanished down the corridor before Charlotte could reply.

Amroth was an excellent companion and regaled her with the history of Imladris as they wound their way through the corridors. He seemed to know a good portion of the house's story for a visiting dignitary, including the architectural details, original purposes of some of the rooms, and amusing anecdotes about the few scars within the stone.

"This one is from a rather fraught battle between the Lord Elrond and a daring, brave, handsome prince," he said, pointing to a long skittering gash in one of the walls.

Charlotte was laughing, completely immersed in his tale, and her worries about the ceremony were nearly forgotten. "And who was this daring, brave prince?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"Handsome." He gave her a cheeky grin. "You forgot 'handsome.'"

"And what did you do that caused the poor lord to chase after you with a… what was it?"

"A spear." His brilliant white teeth were on display, and his eyes crinkled. "He actually managed to beat me around the head with the blunt end at one point, so where's 'Oh poor Amroth,' hmm?"

"I get the distinct impression you deserved it."

"There could be some truth to that."

And Charlotte wanted to ask him what he had done to anger the seemingly gentle Lord Elrond, but he turned the final corner, and Charlotte could see the assembled guests through an open door at the end of the long hall.

When they stepped into the garden, she was nearly overwhelmed with the scent. Night had fallen, and the stars peeked out and twinkled over the circular herb garden. In the dancing light of the lanterns that lined the terrace, swells of purple anise and lavender and soft silvery green towers of rosemary and sage swayed in the crisp breeze that fluttered the burnt orange foliage of the arching trees above their heads. Golden flowers ran in rivers up to a massive oak wedding arch and climbed across the short stone walls that bordered the terrace. The golden blooms wove through the oaken branches, the delicate glow of the petals safely embraced within the strength of the wood.

Charlotte felt peaceful under the watchful stars in the warmth of the glowing garden, lulled by the gentle roar of the falls and the delicate plucking of harp strings. In her periphery, she caught another bright glow, moving among the guests, and she turned to find the source. She was surprised it was not a lantern or a flame, but an elf. He was the same man from the meeting the night before: the captain who was charged with hunting down her attackers. His long blonde hair swayed with each step, and he was dressed in leggings and a tunic with a bow strung across his back and a sword sheathed at his hip. His eyes darted through the crowd, settling on her for a brief second before dismissing her as a threat.

Behind him and looking decidedly unruffled about the entire affair, the Lord Elrond strolled among the crowd accepting blessings and wishes from those who stopped him. When he was finally settled beneath the arch, with the Lord Glorfindel stationed discreetly nearby, the harp's tune shifted, and the crowd hushed and turned to the house.

Celebrían was precisely what Charlotte would have pictured an elven lady to be. Her blonde waves trickled down her back, and a wreath of the tiny golden flowers adorned her head. She held no bouquet and came gracefully unaccompanied down the aisle formed between the assembled elves. Her gown matched her flowers, and with each step, delicate golden slippers peeked out from beneath the layers of skirt.

The lord seemed sweetly impatient for her, and much to the amusement of the crowd who tittered and indulgently smiled, he swept forward with his arms outstretched to receive her, and hand-in-hand they finished the short walk together.

There was no priest or officiant; Celebrían and Lord Elrond clasped each other's hands tightly and spoke their promises clearly and proudly for all to hear. And though Charlotte could not understand the vows they exchanged, as they were expressed in the language of the elves, she felt the power and love embedded in the words. A bit of the romantic that had slowly faded in her soul sparked to life as she watched them, soaking in the gentle thumb the groom caressed against the bride's hand when tears threatened to drip beyond her lashes and savoring their sweet besotted expressions. Lord Elrond tenderly removed a silver ring from Celebrían's hand, and tucked it into his robes, before handing her his own silver ring. They took turns lovingly replacing the rings with thin gold bands that they slid onto each other's right index finger. Elrond's ring glinted as his hand rose to cup his wife's face, and he pressed a featherlight kiss to her brow before dropping to sweetly claim her lips.

Charlotte suddenly wanted that for herself. Romantic entanglements hadn't been possible before; she'd tried. Her priorities in her previous life had been cemented in the care of her mother and her straggling dreams of linguistic mastery and an eventual university job where she could research and share her knowledge with anyone who desired it. And when _she_ asked for coffee from her assistant, she would politely thank him and drink it while it was hot or suffer in silence.

But now, she wasn't sure where any of that fit. Her mother was gone. That thought gave her an unpleasant twang, and she tightened her hold on her emotions. There would be no white dress for Charlotte. No mother eagerly searching with her for that perfect dress. No tears from the woman who had raised her almost entirely alone. She took a deep breath and shoved it all down, just as the crowd erupted in song.

Elves, as it seemed, sang for everything.

Amroth's gravelly singing voice melted seamlessly into the rising chords of the crowd, and he swept his arm out to escort her after the newly married couple. The rest of the group filed in behind them, and together, they snaked their way, singing and carrying the glowing lanterns up the side of the mountain paths to the immense terrace high above the house.

The path was smooth though winding, and Charlotte felt like she was being swept away in a current as the throng of elves wove through each other and pressed up the stairs and curving paths. She only turned around once to view the long trailing stream of them, and she regretted it when she spotted the other Elvenking solemnly gliding behind her.

He wore the same charcoal robes as before, and the cloak's red underside swayed with each of his long strides. Little Legolas was not with him, though Charlotte swore she saw a bouncing head of golden hair weaving between the adults further back in the crowd. He was no doubt with his naneth, and Charlotte could not blame him, because the king looked entirely unpleasant. Despite the elation of the singing elves around him, Thranduil's mouth was firmly sealed, and a furrow had formed between his dark brows.

She felt a brief stirring of pity for him; it was probably painful to attend the Lord and Lady's joyful wedding ceremony after the dissolution of his own relationship. Heat bloomed across her chest, and his silver eyes darted up to find hers. His lips pursed, and his eyes narrowed; even at their distance, she could see his pupils constrict. She panicked, turned too quickly, and only Amroth's arm in hers saved her from making a complete fool of herself and stumbling.

If Amroth marked the direction of her gaze, he wisely said nothing. Although for the remainder of the climb, he switched to Common Tongue and translated the expressions of joy and blessings that the elves bestowed upon the married couple in their songs. Most were for marital bliss and happy lives. Scattered throughout were blessings for many children. According to Amroth, the elves adored children, but Charlotte had only seen one since she had arrived.

"The war was difficult on our people," Amroth explained when she mentioned it. "Having a child requires the will of both parents, and the darkness that bled through our lands weighed heavily on our spirits. Legolas was a miracle in more ways than one."

Her feet were sore, and she was tired by the time she shoved herself up the last of the steps to the reception. Tables stretched around the edges of the terrace, burdened with the weight of the feast, and more golden flowers and curved lanterns lined the tabletops and the surrounding retaining walls. The stone terrace reached out of the mountainside and over the valley, and the elves settled into the hand of the mountain beneath the stars and indulged in a feast unlike any Charlotte had witnessed.

There was no organization or schedule, and the elves rotated between eating, dancing, and singing. Ceaselessly. Charlotte could easily see them going until sunrise, and though there was no evidence of her earlier concerns of debauchery, the wine flowed freely, and the night was steadily growing less reserved. She tried to remain inconspicuous and hid from the whirlpool of dancing elves while she nibbled on a plate of fresh greens, squash, and roasted meat that was rich and delicious until Amroth told her it was a cute little woodland rabbit.

He laughed uproariously at her expression, and gallantly fetched a creamy tartlet from an overflowing table of deserts.

They both knew that she would have to overcome her aversion at some point, but he was polite enough not to mention it, and instead kept her well supplied in sweets and good company. He swept her into the easier dances, gently guiding her through the movements and being mindful of her healing feet. Charlotte stumbled and tripped and stepped on his toes on more than one occasion, but it only led to more laughter.

"My goodness, you all have so many dances, I can't keep the steps straight," she said during one of their breaks.

"You'll learn them quickly," Amroth assured her as he topped off her wine. It was sweet but strong, so it was served in small glasses. She tilted it in the firelight, admiring the almost purple-hue of the dark red wine and the flickers of golden light reflected within. When she caught the glow of the captain at the edge of her glass, she turned to Amroth and quietly asked, "Why does that man glow?" She hoped that wasn't a rude question.

Amroth swirled his own glass, gazing thoughtfully at the stars. "The easiest part of that question is that we are neither men nor women; a female elf is called an elleth, a male elf is an ellon. Your actual question is harder."

He chewed his lip for a moment before setting his wine glass down. "Elves consist of two parts: the hroa and fëa. The hroa encompasses our physical bodies, which can age, albeit slowly, and are susceptible to death through fatal wounds. Our fëa cannot die; it is our spirit. When we die, it travels to the Halls of Mandos, and He is tasked with the judgment of our fëa. We remain in His care until He decides to release us to be reborn. Our memories remain intact, as Lord Glorfindel will tell you."

"The fëa can be seen by elves, and some fëa are more easily seen than others because they are brighter than others. It is how we know when two elves are bonded, for example. Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían are married now, but not yet bonded. Should they bond, you would notice a difference in their fëa. Lord Glorfindel's shines nearly as brightly as yours, and is sometimes visible to mortals, though only particularly observant mortals."

"I have a light?" Charlotte glanced worryingly at her arms, terrified that she had missed some magical glow stick effect under her skin. "What does it look like?"

Amroth hesitated, "It's… vibrant and unusual." He rushed on, concerned that he had offended her. "It's not unpleasant, merely different."

"Different how?"

"Look at Lord Glorfindel's," he nodded his head in the direction of the elven captain.

Lord Glorfindel stood stiffly behind the high table overlooking the festivities. Lord Elrond partially blocked her view, but she could see the soft glow emanating from Glorfindel, like the bronze light of the sun just before it peeks over the horizon.

"He looks like the sun," she said.

"And you look like the stars," Amroth whispered reverently. His eyes caught hers, and a flush worked its way across her cheeks. He leaned forward slightly, and Charlotte felt herself freeze.

"Lady Charlotte, may I have a dance?" A little hand tugged on her sleeve, and Charlotte tore her eyes from Amroth to find Legolas at her hip again. Oddly, he was not staring at her, but rather glaring at Amroth.

"Of course," Charlotte said. "I would be honored. Excuse me, please, King Amroth."

"Just 'Amroth,'" he said before Legolas whisked her onto the dance floor.

Legolas was grinning as he dragged her into position. "Don't worry," he chirped, his two sweet dimples winking at her, "This dance is much easier than the others. I'll teach it to you!"

And he did. Slowly and patiently, Legolas led her through each of the steps with an eagerness that only a child could possess. "That's it!" He cheered after she had ducked as far down as she could to awkwardly spin under his arm. "Now you move your right foot back. Yes, like that! No, the other way."

She laughed. "You are a wonderful instructor, Legolas. Thank you."

"Naneth says that 'A good prince can navigate any dance floor,'" He said and nodded his head once as if it firmly settled that matter.

"And what does your Adar say?"

Legolas shrugged and frowned. "I don't know. Naneth and I live by the sea, and Adar lives in the Greenwood. We don't see him very much, because he has many responsibilities as a king and his people need him. But we'll see him more now because we're going to live with Adar, and he says that you're coming too."

Oh boy. Legolas was already convinced of her journeying with them, and she didn't want him getting his hopes up. "Well, that hasn't been decided yet. I might stay here and try to go home. I have… things there that I need to do," she finished lamely.

The little elf paused in the dance, and the other couples parted and swirled around him like waves around a lonely sea stack. His frown deepened, but he caught Charlotte's concerned expression and quickly smiled at her. His eyes, silver like his adar's, were still full and sad when he said, "It will be okay. You'll find your home."

"_Legolas, tolo a bosto_." Nemir had swept through the dancers and placed a thin hand on her son's shoulder.

He turned his hopeful gaze on his naneth. "_Sevin dhâf…_"

Her face pinched, and she shook her head. Legolas would clearly not win whatever he was requesting. "_Avo. Lasto nin, Legolas._"

"_Díheno nin_," His shoulders drooped. "_Ben iest gîn, Naneth._"

Charlotte gathered the hem of her dress so she could squat down to his eye level. She had deduced the gist of the conversation. While the language was different, she knew a bedtime order when she saw it. "Thank you for the dance, Prince Legolas. It was very kind of you to teach me. I'm sure we'll see each other in the morning before you leave."

"You promise?" Legolas grinned.

"Absolutely!"

With that, Nemir shuffled him to a nearby elleth who escorted him down the mountain paths to the house. Charlotte made her own way to the table where Amroth was waiting but found that he had vanished. A quick search showed him guiding a blissful Celebrían around the dance floor, so she settled in with her wine to wait.

The dance was slowing when Thranduil intercepted Nemir trying to leave the party.

"When are you going to tell him?" Thranduil hissed. Charlotte's back went rigid. She did not want to be privy to another one of their arguments.

"I will tell him in the morning before he leaves," Nemir said and tried to step around him, but he towered over her.

"You mean to spring this on him at the last second?"

"I will tell my son when I am ready," she spat.

"You have no son. He is soon to be entirely in my care. You will tell him tonight." Thranduil crossed his arms over his broad chest. The glare he leveled at Nemir would have terrified anyone.

"_Ego!_" The elleth stepped around him but paused at the peak of the stairs. Her vacant eyes gazed beyond the spread of the valley below. "You are not my king."

Thranduil whipped around, flashes of red erupting beneath his cloak. He leaned into Nemir's face and growled, "And you are not my queen. You are nothing to me."

A vein throbbed in his forehead when Nemir raised a single brow and left him standing alone at the edge of the wedding feast.

Elrond chose that moment to appear, having somehow sensed the trouble brewing, and spotting her sitting alone at the nearest table, he suggested to Thranduil, "The lovely Lady Charlotte sits abandoned by her escort. Perhaps you could be her partner in the next dance?"

The king heaved a sigh, and with barely a glance in her direction, said shortly, "I do not dance. I think I will rest before we take our leave in the morning. Your time would be best spent with your bride."

Pity and dislike warred within her heart, and Charlotte watched his broad shoulders and the sweep of his cloak as he vanished into the night.

.

.

.

Translations/Notes:

_Eryn Galen - _Sindarin name for Greenwood the Great

_Lórinand_ \- An earlier name for _Lothlórien_.

_Tolo a bosto _\- Come and rest

_Sevin dhâf… _\- May I…

_Avo. Lasto nin, Legolas. _\- Don't whine. Listen to me, Legolas.

_Díheno nin _\- Forgive me

_Ben iest gîn, Naneth. _\- As you wish, Mother.

_Ego! -_ A rude way to say "Go away" (essentially: "f*** off!")


	7. Bonds Forged and Broken

The pink rays of dawn brought little warmth to Charlotte's chamber, and she was reluctant to remove from her bed. Instead, she pulled the woven bedsheet over her head like a hood until only her cold-flushed nose peeked from the fabric.

While the bedding was luxurious and thicker than her store-brand sheets at home, they were still too thin to keep the chill from her skin. As the temperatures dropped during the night, she found herself shivering and scrunching herself into a ball to guard her heat. The croaks and chirps of the nightlife frequently woke her; she was terrified they would caper about her unprotected room while she slept since there was no barrier to keep them outside.

None of those things had been responsible for waking her this time, though she couldn't discern what had disturbed the fraught slumber she'd finally slipped into during the wee hours of the morning. She shifted in her warm sheets, trying fruitlessly to move some of the heat near her chest to defrost her toes.

Her cocoon tempted her to stay buried away for the day, but she'd made a promise to say goodbye to Legolas, and she wasn't going to break it. So she ripped the sheets off and forced herself to get moving.

The stone floor was smooth and polished and soothed her aching feet. Her wounds hadn't entirely healed, and she'd danced multiple rounds with Amroth and Legolas the night before. There was an uncomfortable pressure on her soles, but the worst of the pain was gone.

A curved high-back chair beside the rounded door held a new gown: soothing evergreen silk with silver trumpet sleeves that Charlotte knew would waterfall to the floor. She exchanged it with the nightdress she'd slept in, trying to expose as little of her body to the chill as possible, and expecting to freeze while she switched into the gown.

But standing bare in the breeze from the windows, she was shockingly still warm.

She reached up to find the source of the heat spreading across her body, and found antlered necklace resting against her collarbones and the heat radiating from its protected stone.

"Mother, what on Earth did you give me?"

Charlotte bit her lip. She would never get to ask. Why didn't she ask more about the necklace when her mother had been lucid? Better yet: why hadn't she asked her mother how she'd been feeling?

The heat in her hand grew, and she felt a tugging throughout her body, an insistence that she move. Now. She yanked the dress over her head and threw on her boots. When she ripped open the door, she glanced up and down the corridor. Which way? Where was she supposed to go?

"This is crazy," she said, but she grabbed the necklace again, and felt the heat of the stone. A wailing filled her ears, the tugging intensified, and Charlotte stumbled in the direction she thought she was being tugged.

Her heart was pounding, and the feeling grew stronger as she raced through the corridors, her legs eddying the gown, and the thin sleeves flowing behind her.

Keeping track of the turns she made became impossible after a while, and she ended in a section of the house she'd never seen. The house was still asleep. None of the helpful elves who had been so plentiful yesterday were wandering the corridors, and there was no one to see her pass.

The wailing seemed to echo now, and she could hear the cries ringing in her ears. "Where are you?" She asked. She knew that voice and the sweet elf it belonged to.

The tugging led her to a rounded door in the middle of the hall, and she could hear the cries through the door.

She deliberated briefly on knocking, but heard the little voice crying, "Nana! Nana!"

Charlotte shoved the door open and felt her heart drop to her feet. Legolas stood in his nightshirt, his blonde hair askew, in the center of the chamber. Alone.

"Legolas?" Charlotte whispered. She stepped cautiously into the room. "Legolas, sweetheart, it's Charlotte."

There was a tiny golden blur and a sob as he flung himself at her. She dropped to her knees just in time to catch him. "Legolas, what's wrong? Where's you naneth?"

But that was the entirely wrong thing to ask, for Legolas's tiny body wracked with sobs, and he howled, "She's gone. She's gone!"

Charlotte ran her fingers over his soft hair and pulled him closer. There was a crumpled blanket on the bed in front of her, so she ripped it down and wrapped him in it before settling on the floor with him in her lap. She rocked as she smoothed her hand over his hair. What was she supposed to do? His parents were missing, and no one had come to check on the crying elf.

"Your naneth must be around here somewhere," Charlotte tried. "See? All the luggage is still here." She pointed to a stack of lumpy woven sacks near the door.

"Those are mine," Legolas hiccuped. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and Charlotte used a corner of the blanket to wipe the tears from his cheeks. "Hers were over there," He pointed a finger toward an empty corner by the window. "They're all gone. She left me!"

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut to hold back her tears. They would not help Legolas. He burrowed into her chest, and she hugged him tighter. "Shhh, it's going to be okay. I'm here," She said. She wasn't sure what platitudes she offered as she rocked him in her arms and combed through her mind for options.

If Nemir had really gone, Charlotte couldn't expect the elleth to come back, and she would not leave Legolas by himself while she went to find help. She had to find Thranduil, and Legolas would have to go with her.

"Come, little one," She said and lifted him into her arms. "Let's go find your adar. Do you know where his room is?"

Legolas hiccuped again and shook his head. Her mysterious sixth sense and the necklace were silent. Charlotte took a deep breath. She couldn't walk down the hall shouting for the king, and she didn't know where his room was. She didn't even know how to find her own chamber at this point!

Surely, Thranduil would be nearby, right? Charlotte eyed the doors around her. How many elves would she have to wake to find him? Or one that spoke Common Tongue and could help her?

She glanced down at Legolas, still wrapped snugly in his blanket, with his fists clinging to her gown and fresh tears streaming across his porcelain skin and leaving damp green spots on her bodice, and she felt fierce protectiveness and resolve fill her. She would rip this house apart to soothe him. If every damn elf in the house had to be stripped from their bed, she would do it.

"Best get started then," She said and squared her shoulders. "I'll find your adar, sweetheart. Don't worry."

She straightened Legolas in her arms to free her fist and loudly knocked on the first door in front of her. A brief moment passed, and no one answered, so she moved to the next. And when no one answered that one, she pounded on the next door.

Over and over again, she worked her down the hallway banging on the circular wooden doors that guarded each chamber. "Is there no one in this freaking corridor?" She hissed. Legolas was getting heavier in her arms, and she'd already knocked on at least ten doors. She abandoned that corridor and moved to the next one.

This time she was livid. Who left a child alone in a corridor of rooms by himself? So her fist slammed particularly hard on the next door. She heard a _thump_ through the wood, and angrily hissed words that sounded like cursing.

The door was ripped open, and a scowling Amroth filled the empty frame, snapping out a string of elvish that Charlotte was sure wasn't complimentary.

"Good morning to you too," she huffed and shifted Legolas again. The little elf was quietly hiccuping and sniffling against her. "Where do I find King Thranduil?"

"Charlotte?" Amroth blinked a few times, trying to shove the sleep from his eyes. He smelled strongly of the wine from last night, and Charlotte spied a maroon stain on his rumpled tunic. Then she noticed that the tunic was the only thing he was wearing and quickly averted her eyes. "What are you-" he caught her blush and, realizing his state, ducked partially behind the door. "Why do you have Legolas?"

"Amroth, focus. Where is King Thranduil's room?"

"End of the hall on the right. Charlotte, what's going on?"

But Charlotte was already striding toward the final door. Her arms were burning, as was her anger. "Bunch of irresponsible drunken elves," she thought.

The elves were so convinced that Imladris was safe that they hadn't bothered with guards, gotten ridiculously intoxicated, and a near-stranger had waltzed about with the Prince in her arms and no one the wiser. How could they be so reckless? And Nemir! Charlotte's nostrils flared. There were no words for her anger toward that elleth.

The fury boiling beneath the surface of her skin reached its peak, and her fist came down bruisingly on the king's door. She bit her the inside of her cheek and tried to soothe her temper before she upset Legolas further. She rarely lost it, and she was not going to scare Legolas any more than he already had been.

There was no thump from within the chamber this time, and the door was pulled open before Charlotte could knock again. Thranduil was already dressed in a collared silver robe that hugged his torso before splitting at his hips to glide around his legs. The branched crown sat perfectly on his neat blonde hair, and his silver eyes were alert as he took in the glaring Charlotte and her hiccuping bundle.

Amroth was hopping down the hallway as he tried to shove his legs into his leggings, and nearly toppled over as he shouted, "What's going on?"

"I would like to know that myself." Thranduil's voice was deep and rich. It was apparent _he_ hadn't drunk himself into a stupor like Amroth.

Legolas chose that moment to pop his face out from his hiding spot within the blanket. His pert red nose appeared first, followed by his wobbling lower lip and watery eyes. "Adar?"

Thranduil was instantly enraged and towered over her. "What have you done to my son?"

"Me?" Charlotte nearly screeched. That pompous, arrogant, pointy-eared bastard! She shoved her way into his chambers and settled on the bed where she could rest Legolas' weight in her lap. Her arms were on fire, and she rolled her shoulders to work the kinks out. Legolas whimpered, and she pulled him closer.

"How dare you!" Thranduil hissed, trailing after her. "Release my son at once and leave!"

Amroth tripped barefoot into the room where he promptly shut the door. "Thranduil, keep it down, you're going to wake the whole house."

"As I should!" He whirled on the other king. "Where are the guards?"

"There are none," Charlotte sniped. "You left your son completely unguarded in a separate section of the house."

"He was with his naneth and her guards!" Thranduil yelled and then froze. "What do you mean, there are no guards?" His voice had dropped, and the silky whisper frightened Charlotte more than his yelling ever could.

"Naneth is gone, Adar," came the tiny wobbling voice from within the blanket. "She left me. She didn't even say 'goodbye.'"

The sobbing started again, and Charlotte shushed him and ran her hand over his head while she glared at his adar.

Thranduil, to his credit, looked shocked. His mouth popped wide, and he appeared to be on the verge of dropping. Amroth noticed it as well, and shoved a chair under him and said, "Sit. It's clear you've made quite a mess of things."

Charlotte couldn't tell if he dropped into the offered seat because Amroth had told him to or because he needed to. She could see him working through the events in a new light and finally coming to the correct conclusion.

"Where was he?" Thranduil whispered, and his glazed eyes stared past her.

"In his room."

"His room is on the other side of the house from yours," his eyes narrowed. "What were you doing there?"

Charlotte's temper had yet to cool, and his attitude was like gasoline on her flame. "Is this an interrogation?"

"Should it be?"

"You arrogant, conceited son of a-"

"Charlotte! Thranduil!" Amroth barked. "Enough." He nodded his head toward a wide-eyed Legolas, and Charlotte felt immediately embarrassed.

"Sorry, little one," she said and pulled his blanket back up. He settled comfortably into her shoulder and sniffled. Exhaustion etched across his face, and she knew he would be out cold soon if the adults managed to keep their voices down. She narrowed her eyes at Thranduil, who was still glaring at her.

"I do not like your level of familiarity with my son," he said and shifted in his seat. "Hand him to me."

With no logical reason to refuse, especially since she had initially sought out the king, Charlotte moved to deposit Legolas in his arms, but the little elf cried and clung tight to her dress and begged.

"Please don't leave me!"

She felt her heart chipping and squeezed him in her arms. "It's going to be alright, I promise."

"Please." His voice whispered. "Don't go."

That his mother would abandon him like this nearly broke her. She knew that loss and the grief that followed. It was darkness always on the edge of her vision, silently seething, waiting for a break in her defenses so it could swarm forth and swallow her whole. She had nearly three decades with her mother, and though she supposed Legolas had almost a similar amount of time, it was glaringly different. He was a child, and his mother left without warning and of her own volition.

Poor sweet Legolas was left to carry that pain, and she fervently wished she could ease even a fraction of his suffering.

Her necklace heated, and she felt more than saw Legolas's breathing even out, his tiny shoulder's unfurl. She watched in the quiet of the room, as his eyes fluttered once, twice, and then he was asleep.

"Now that is interesting," Amroth said, and Charlotte could see that he had once again leaned forward to study her.

"Indeed" was all Thranduil said, and though she had clearly done something to Legolas, the layer of suspicion had fled from his gaze.

"I think it's time for some answers," Amroth said. "Charlotte?"

So Charlotte took a breath and explained, quietly so as not to wake Legolas, how she had woken feeling strange and felt pulled in his direction. Her voice shook with anger as she described finding him alone and distraught in his room, and the subsequent hunt through the corridors. Thranduil was pacing like a tiger by the end of it.

"That hall was filled with guards and the members of her party from Lindon." His robe swirled as he spun on his heel and stormed through another loop. "If I find out that they left, knowing that he was alone, there will be drastic repercussions."

"She had to have known what this would do to him," Amroth added. His ordinarily cheerful disposition had twisted into something sour and unpleasant. He stood, darting a glance between the two of them, and said, "I'll be back. The lord will need to hear of this."

"Don't bother," Thranduil bitterly. "Let him enjoy his new bond uninterrupted."

Amroth placed a thick hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "He's very fond of Legolas, you know. As is Celebrían. They would be upset if you did not summon them when he needed them most."

A muscle twitched in Thranduil's jaw before he bowed his head. "Very well. Be it on your head if he throws you from the house for ruining his first morning with his bonded."

The room was uncomfortably silent once Amroth had departed. Thranduil seemed lost in his own contemplations, and Charlotte was following the steady rise and fall of Legolas's breathing. He was a sizeable weight on her legs, and she was tempted to lay him on the bed but feared she'd wake him or drop him. And then she realized that she was sitting on Thranduil's bed. A king's bed.

"Do you have another chair?" Charlotte whispered over Legolas's blonde head. "I can move off your bed."

Thranduil's silver eyes met hers for a moment before he dismissively looked away and, with a lazy wave of his hand, said, "You're welcome in my bed."

Charlotte flushed hot. He seemed to realize what he said, and quickly added, "I am done with it, and we depart today."

She wasn't entirely sure that it was better. The implication that she was welcome to his leftovers… even if it was just a bed... She sighed; he was just saving face and probably didn't mean it how her temper was having her interpret it. Still, he could only dream of being so lucky, her wounded pride whispered.

Then again, she took him all in, from the long powerful legs to the fitted robe stretched across his broad shoulders. He was lithe, and though he was hidden beneath the thick fabric layers, there was an undeniable strength. His hands were smooth, with narrow fingers and trimmed nails, and she let herself imagine for a second how they would feel sliding over her skin. Her eyes traveled over the deep silver of his eyes and the pink lips that quirked into a smirk.

She nearly growled at the smugness radiating off of him. He'd caught her staring, and every bit of his expression screamed, "I know I'm gorgeous." Thankfully, he kept his mouth shut.

The silence ensued, and Charlotte wondered how far Amroth had to go to fetch Lord Elrond and Celebrían. He had to be back soon, right? She chewed on her lip, gazed out the window at the sun-kissed valley, and nearly jumped when Thranduil's deep voice broke the silence.

"I suppose I should thank you," he said. He pulled at the cuff of his sleeves as if to straighten them, though they were already perfect. "For finding my son."

She realized he had neatly avoided actually thanking her, and though she didn't need it, because she adored Legolas and gave him comfort despite his arrogant father, she was still miffed at his haughtiness. She rolled her eyes and continued her study of the valley.

Down below, she could see the elves leading the horses from the stable and readying them for the journey to the Greenwood. She still had that decision to make. She desperately wanted to find a way home, but Galadriel and Elrond had been firm in their belief that there was no way back. Not only that, but Celebrían seemed to imply that Charlotte had somehow died in her old life since that was how elves were reborn.

And then there was the issue of figuring out what she was even going back for.

If she went back, she had her work waiting for her. Even with her mother's illness, she had kept in touch with the history and foreign languages departments. It was how she snagged the assistant position with the highly respected and tenured Professor Filmont, who had left for France shortly after and dumped her onto the newly hired Dr. Lewis, who constantly complained about his tea temperature. While she did not want to go back to working with him, she could reapply for the university and finish her studies.

Of course, her mother's things were there, and her house was likely a flawlessly kept shrine if Betsy had anything to do with it. She wasn't too worried about what happened to her mother's belongings. They had known that her mother was deteriorating and had a will in place long before. Her mother had insisted upon it when she was first diagnosed. The house and most of her mother's possessions would be left to Charlotte, aside from a few specific items set aside for her sister, Abby, who had been mostly absent from their lives since she turned 18 and high-tailed it out of town. Last Charlotte had heard, she was living in Chicago, happily married with two cute kids. She called home a few times a year, but those calls dwindled with her mother's mental clarity, and she hadn't called in over a year.

Her mother's 401k had been depleted, but the house was in a decent financial position, and she'd paid the mortgage the week before she disappeared from her old life. The energy bill would be due soon, though, and the quarterly water bill came around at the end of the month. Without the pay for the week, she might have to let one run overdue and hope she could manage the late fee.

Her mother had wanted to take out a loan on the house to pay for some of the rapidly accumulating expenses, but Charlotte refused to have her mother use her home as collateral for her health. So she was a bartender in the evenings after she finished at the university, and when the university was closed for breaks, she picked up tutoring jobs for local high school and middle school students. But she'd have to play catch-up when she got back to make up for the loss of income for the days she'd been missing while she was wrapped up in this fictional world.

But it would be worth it, right? To be home surrounded by her mother's things and her familiar rhythm? Sure there weren't really any _people_ for her to go back to. Betsy was somewhere between friend and acquaintance; she was always Dora's friend and caretaker to Charlotte, and she didn't often hang around while Charlotte was visiting, in order to give her some privacy with her mother. And she'd already reasoned that her sister was so far removed from her life that Abby would hardly notice that Charlotte had even vanished. There were no friends or boyfriends… just a life full of near-strangers.

Her mother had said, "You're nearly thirty Charlotte. You can't just let life pass you by." She wasn't prepared for the sharp sting of pain that rode in on the memory of her voice.

"Are you well?" Thranduil asked. For once, he honestly looked concerned.

"Yes, thank you," She said quietly. Thranduil looked as if he would say more, but changed his mind, and she caged the grief attempting to escape the box she'd shoved it in.

She was getting desperate enough to make small talk with him, more to avoid thinking about her mother and her life before Imladris than any sense of awkwardness at this point. Thankfully, Lord Elrond and Celebrían arrived before she resorted to such drastic measures.

When Charlotte caught sight of them, what Amroth had said about the differences in the fëar of bonded couples was apparent. The usual radiance that illuminated the elves was visible, but as she watched, she could see the edges blur and stretch as if trying to embrace each other, a perfect symbiotic relationship where each fëa fed the other.

"Their domestic bliss is sickening, isn't it?" Amroth chuckled, noting her unfocused examination. When she zeroed in on his expression, the light faded slightly, though it was still noticeable, almost like catching something in her peripheral: there but blurry.

Celebrían was carrying a small tray of what looked like thick beige cookies with a glass jar of amber honey. Charlotte grinned. "Those would be the legendary oatcakes then?" She asked.

"Oatcakes?" Came the small voice within the blanket. Legolas peeked out and spotted Celebrían. "Did you bring honey?"

The elleth's smile was soft and sweet, and she nodded, "How could I forget? They're your favorite." She held out a hand and waved it. "Why don't you come along with me, and we'll eat these in the garden?"

Legolas hesitated, but after a tense moment, he shifted in his blanket and turned his big eyes to Charlotte. "You'll be here when I come back, right? You won't leave?"

Charlotte glanced around the other elves, who all possessed such a profound look of sorrow, before she said, "Absolutely. If I'm not right here when you get back, I'll be in my room."

"You're coming with us, right?" he said.

His red puffy eyes looked so miserable to her, his pale face still stained and shiny from his tears, and she found herself saying, "Yes."

"Really?" he said, disbelief evident in his tone. It was hardly surprising considering his morning. "You promise?"

Charlotte made a habit not to make promises she couldn't keep, and she took a moment to think it over. She knew she had nothing to go back to but painful memories and loneliness. Looking around the room, she remembered her mother's words and took in the faces of the elves who were seamlessly morphing into friends in such a short space of time. Of course, there was Thranduil; he was still a wild card to her. But then there was Legolas; sweet, innocent, hopeful Legolas who just had his entire world turned upside down, much as she had.

"I promise," she said. And then more firmly, "I will travel with you to the Greenwood."

A small smile graced his face, though his dimples remained buried beneath the weight of his sorrow, and he untangled himself from the blanket and allowed Celebrían to lead him from the room.

Amroth gently laid his hand on her shoulder. "You better prepare yourself for the journey. I'll escort you to your room. No doubt your lady's maid will be concerned at your absence."

Charlotte worried about Legolas returning to find her gone, but Thranduil read her mind. "I will inform him," he said shortly and waved her off.

She nodded once and allowed Amroth to tuck her arm through his. Just before she left, she heard a heavy sigh, and a softly whispered, "Thank you." She kept her back straight and didn't turn around, though she swore she heard the echoes of his sigh chase her all the way back to her room.


	8. Departing Imladris

The elves of Imladris were generous in nature, as was evident by the bulging travel bag Meluieth had packed for Charlotte.

"It's mostly gowns from the Lady Celebrían until we reach _ Emyn Duir _, and there we can make you more appropriate garments," Meluieth said before she waved off the guard, a tall ellon with an easy grin and a bow at his back, who had come to collect Charlotte's belongings. "Ellavorn will see that it's packed with the rest of the king's belongings. It might be better if we put them with Prince Legolas's; the king brought an extensive wardrobe, and yours is likely to get lost in it. Alas, too late."

Amroth had just deposited her in her room with the whirling elleth, and Charlotte was surprised to find nearly all of her meager belongings- all gifts from the elves, since the clothing she arrived in was torn and bloodied and irreparable -already packed neatly in an elaborate sack and handed to a guard to load for the journey. "How did you know I was coming along so quickly? I just told Legolas."

Meluieth laughed and tucked a pair of brown leggings into a smaller pack. "While you may not have decided, the king has been adamant that you would be joining us."

"Well, that's awfully presumptuous of him."

"He is the king," Meluieth shrugged, and kept rolling tunics and leggings into neat little barrels and stuffing them in the pack. "His orders are to be followed. It has been said that he decided you would join us that very night you arrived."

Charlotte remembered the night she'd fled from the council of elven leaders just after Thranduil had begrudgingly acceded to Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond's firm declaration that she belonged in the Greenwood. It seemed her rather emphatic "no" had been summarily dismissed, much to her increasing agitation.

"If he thinks he'll force me into obeying his every whim, he's mistaken."

"King Thranduil isn't like that at all. We love him, and we chose him after his father's death. He has been an excellent leader for our people, and has navigated our departure from Aman Lanc well."

Meluieth pulled the buckles on the front flap of the bag and passed it to Charlotte with a pair of knee-high forest green boots. "Switch your boots with these, they will suit you better on the ride with their heel, and there are fresh clothes on the bed as well. Then I will braid your hair for the journey."

The bed held another soft pair of brown leggings and a low-collared tunic that matched her boots. Meluieth continued to chatter as Charlotte switched out of her gown and into the first pair of pants she'd been able to wear since leaving Virginia.

"The Noldor would have you departing in your gown," the elleth rolled her eyes, "but we Silvan elves ride fast, and you would never keep pace if you had to ride like their noble ladies. It would take months to get you to the Greenwood dressed in such a way."

"How long will it take to get there?"

"If the weather is decent and there are no delays, we should reach _ Emyn Duir _ within a month." She didn't mention what those delays might be, but Charlotte hadn't forgotten the orcs who greeted her on the plains to the west of Imladris.

Agreeing to Legolas in the heat of the moment wasn't like her. She wasn't the type to jump without thinking, and yet, when he'd turned his sad little blue eyes on her, she'd instantly crumbled. Leaving Imladris would mean traveling farther from her point of entry in the world, and she worried that Lord Elrond could be wrong about her ability to go home. After all, she hadn't died like Lord Glorfindel, and she wasn't from Middle Earth.

And then there was the matter of King Thranduil. Could she even trust him? Her limited experience with him had led her to believe that he was haughty and cold, and his wife had detested him enough to sail to a different continent and abandon her only son.

Journeying for a month with a hoard of strangers described by Celebrían as "wild" seemed like a terrible idea. She subtly eyed Meluieth, who was humming as she stripped the blankets from the bed. The other elleth was at least a head shorter than Charlotte, with soft golden hair and delicate features. She reminded Charlotte of a hummingbird, full of energy and flitting about the room. "Wild" would be the last word she'd use to describe Meluieth.

Maybe Celebrían had meant it comparatively. Imladris was a hidden Eden of thundering waterfalls, fragrant gardens, and a sprawling stone mansion. Perhaps, the people of _ Emyn Duir _lived more rustically. Like cabins in the woods and no bathrooms and loads of insects.

"Oh lord, the bugs," she moaned. "I'll get eaten alive."

Meluieth's vibrant laugh reminded her she wasn't alone. "You worry too much, _ mellon _."

"Who said I was worried?"

"Your forehead," she gently poked between Charlotte's brows, "and you will bloody your lip gnawing on it like that. Calm yourself. The journey is relatively safe, and you will find that most insects are not interested in consuming us."

Just as Meluieth's deft fingers had finished braiding Charlotte's hair, there was an eager knock on her chamber door. "Come in," Charlotte yelled out of habit. There was a musical giggle from the other side of the wood before it was shoved open, and Legolas flew into the room.

Celebrían glided in a more dignified manner behind him. "My apologies, Charlotte, Legolas knows not to burst into a lady's chamber, but he was worried when he did not see you with the other elves assembled in the valley."

"Oh, no!" Charlotte reached for her bag and flung it over her shoulders. "Am I late?"

"You are not late; Legolas is simply impatient," Celebrían said impishly.

"I had to make sure she didn't change her mind!" Legolas insisted. A small frown marred his face. He dropped his eyes to intently study the toe of his boot.

Celebrían and Charlotte exchanged a look, and the latter dropped to her knees in front of him and held out her hands for him to take. Once his little fingers were snuggled in hers, Charlotte met his blue eyes and said, "Whenever I make you a promise, I will keep it. I do not make them lightly, and I aim to only make promises I am committed to keeping."

Legolas blushed and opened his mouth to apologize, but Charlotte smiled warmly and squeezed his fingers. "You don't have to apologize. I told you so that you know for the future, and it's okay if you don't believe me right now because I promise you I am patient enough to prove it to you. Can you promise me something too?"

He nodded his head, his eyes focused and severe. It seemed that he wanted to be just as intentional in his promises.

"Do you promise to teach me how to curtsey, so I don't look like a silly elf anymore?"

Her plan worked, and Legolas grinned, his two dimples popping into place for the first time in hours, and his pain temporarily forgotten. "I promise! If you're going to be Adar's elf, you will have to know everything! Don't worry, though, I will help you to not be a silly elf." His frown briefly returned, and he added, "But can you stay a little silly? You are fun, and the other ellith are never silly and fun like you, except for Celebrían. She took me to see all the horses this morning! Adar is grumpy with your elk, though. He won't leave him alone."

"The elk came back?"

Celebrían's brow furrowed, her confusion evident. "Gwenestadren said this morning that your elk never left."

"I set him free yesterday," Charlotte said and ushered both of them into the corridor. Meluieth had vanished during Legolas's brief upset, likely to give the young prince privacy. "I watched him leave the stable and assumed he would go home. He's a wild animal, after all."

But sure enough, when they reached the valley floor, she could see the elk sauntering a few paces behind a visibly irritated King Thranduil. When the king spotted her, he swooped down on her with his new companion trailing behind him.

"If you're planning to keep your beast," he said, "you will need to train him. This is the second time he has stalked me without reprieve."

"He's not mine," she said automatically. He was a wild animal, for goodness sake. She didn't own him.

"You will find _ your _ elk disagrees," he huffed, spun on his heel, and fled into the crowd of elves and horses with his split-robe churning around his legs.

The elk attempted to follow him, and she stepped quickly into his path. "Woah, there. I think he may be right." She reached a hand up to gently rub the elk's neck. "Have you been bothering his majesty? Is that where you were yesterday when I set you free?"

He rumbled deep in his chest and stamped a hoof.

"Best not to bother him too much, or he'll leave you here."

She ignored the look the elk gave her that clearly said, "I'd like to see him try." He was surprisingly intelligent and expressive, and Charlotte found herself briefly imagining him as a heroic animal sidekick in one of those animated princess movies. She chuckled to herself. She was definitely not a princess, and he was a wild animal and not a sidekick. Besides, she hoped that her travels were calm enough that they wouldn't qualify as the type of adventures that required such a sidekick.

"May I pet him?" Legolas asked. Charlotte found him at his favorite spot by her hip, gazing reverently at the massive elk.

"I don't see why not," she said. "You'll have to ask him, but he seems committed to becoming domesticated."

The elk snorted and lifted his chin, and Charlotte laughed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. You are a wild and free elk, very majestic."

"Please, can I pet you?" Legolas asked, nearly bouncing in place.

The elk slowly inclined his head and took a deep whiff of Legolas, which made him giggle loudly, and then he settled in the grass so the excited elfling could run his tiny fingers through his hair.

Charlotte stepped back to admire the sight and wished she had a camera to capture the moment. She felt a prickling across her skin and looked to the crowd of elves and horses and saw Thranduil gazing at her from atop his own glossy horse. His eyes flickered to a giggling Legolas trying to evade the wet Elk nose snuffling through his blond hair, and the king gave her a small bow of his head. She caught the meaning well enough and let a gentle smile grace her face.

Celebrían laced her arm through Charlotte's and said, "I suddenly find myself eager to be on this journey with you, if only to watch it all unfold. Perhaps I will come to visit in a few months to see it with my eyes."

Charlotte glanced away from the king to study her new friend's mischievous expression, but Legolas jumped in before she could say anything. "You must come! I will ask Adar if you can! You can help me teach Charlotte how to be a good royal elf."

The delicate elleth laughed and pulled Charlotte closer, "It is decided then. I will discuss it with Elrond and Thranduil and arrange for a visit to the Greenwood in the spring if your Adar is obliging."

Legolas whooped, briefly attracting the attention of the other elves, and one familiar elf broke away from the crowd with a grin. Amroth had traded his flowing robes for a silver tunic and dark leggings. A cloak wound around his shoulders and the ends frolicked at his heels like dogs. Though his crown was still perched atop his silver hair, he was obviously dressed for travel; he would apparently be riding with them for part of the journey.

"Come now, young prince," he said as a greeting to Legolas. "It's time to say your farewells and depart."

"Are you coming with us too?" The elfling asked.

"My retinue will only ride with you for part of the journey," he said, though it was apparent by the dark look in his eyes and Celebrían's sudden stillness that there was more to it.

When he ushered Legolas away, Celebrían quickly explained, "Lord Glorfindel received word from the border patrols this morning. There have been increased orc sightings in the plains; large parties traveling on wargs, and we don't know where they are going or what they seek."

Charlotte felt her blood freeze. The scent of decay radiated through her memory. She could hear the orcs' guttural laughs as they chased her, cornered her. There were more of those things? She wasn't like the trained warriors loading their horses on the field before her. She would be completely unable to defend herself. Staying in Imladris began to tempt her again, but with one quick glance at Legolas bounding around Amroth's legs, her resolve strengthened.

Celebrían followed her gaze and said, "Amroth has decided to leave earlier than planned to join his party with Thranduil's. The _ Lórinand _ elves will travel with you through the High Pass in the mountains and as far the River Anduin before moving south along the river. With so many, you should be safe."

"I will also be a liability," Charlotte grumbled. "Like I said before, I don't exactly have any applicable skills here."

"You won't be the only lady traveling with the party. My mother, Galadriel, will return to _ Lórinand, _and you will have the ladies of King Thranduil's retinue: Lothuial, Eithoril, and, of course, Meluieth."

Charlotte had nearly forgotten her brief unpleasant encounter with Eithoril. At some point, she would have to learn Elvish, simply so she could understand when people like Eithoril insulted her.

_ "I can teach you on our journey, should you wish it," _ came a pleasant voice within her mind. The sea of elves parted to reveal the Lady Galadriel. _ "It will be my gift to you, Annuiel." _

The elleth softly clasped her daughter's fingers and said aloud, "Have you shared your gift with her, _ iell nin _?"

"Elrond will be bringing it shortly. He should be here soon."

"He is already here," a smooth voice said. Celebrían's eyes lit up, the faint glow of her skin grew, and she quickly embraced Lord Elrond. The lord softened under his wife's attention, his usually strict features melting away in the light of her affection. Behind him, Lindir, who was fondly smiling at the couple, carried a silk-wrapped bundle.

A soft sigh from her side caused her to look down. Legolas had rejoined them and was staring at Lord Elrond and Celebrían, his shoulders drooped, and the corners of his mouth turned down. Charlotte felt the pain radiating from him and started to feel the warmth spread across her collarbones. She smacked her hands over the necklace. The motion caused everyone to glance at her.

"Mosquito," she said lamely, before remembering Meluieth saying that insects didn't go after elves and flushing red.

Thankfully, Legolas distracted them all by pointing to the bundle in Lindir's arms and gleefully asking Lord Elrond, "Is that it?"

The lord nodded, taking the bundle from Lindir, and holding it out to Legolas, "Indeed, it is. Would you like to give it to her?"

The elfling bounded forward and gathered the bundle in his arms. The assembled elves chuckled at the sight of the little elf dwarfed by his package. "It's for you, Charlotte. Lord Elrond and I made it yesterday. Well, Gwenestadren helped too. But I did the stars!"

Charlotte dropped to her knees in the grass to accept the gift and gently unfolded the silk. Inside was a bridle with matching reins made from strips of dark leather and thick golden rings. She ran her fingers across the smooth surface, feeling the bumps and grooves where the interlocking elk antlers wove their way along the leather. Embraced within the center of each was a shining star. She felt her throat tighten. "It's beautiful," she said.

Legolas grinned and pointed to one of the wobbly looking stars on the reins. "See? I did this one, and this one, and this one…"

Charlotte laughed. "I love them all. Thank you."

The elfling glowed with the praise, his cheeks pink above his tell-tale dimples.

She turned to Celebrían and Lord Elrond and said, "I can't thank you enough for your kindness. I will treasure this."

"I regret that we could not fashion a saddle for your journey," the lord said. With Celebrían at his side, the couple was the picture of serenity. "Though you did well without one on your arrival."

"I nearly fell off twice, I think. I owe the credit to the elk, rather than any ability of my own." Charlotte gently wrapped the reins in the silk and handed them to a waiting Lindir with another effusive thanks. The ellon seemed amused by her, but bowed his head shortly and assured her he would have her elk prepared.

Everything moved rather quickly after that. Far too quickly for Charlotte, who continually doubted that she was making the right move. On the one hand, she had already determined nothing was waiting for her back home, and these people, these kind and welcoming elves, had wholeheartedly brought her into their lives with the hope that she would provide some sort of magical God-blessed protection. The thought of leaving them, and sweet Legolas, to fight it out on their own when there was even the slightest chance of her being helpful…

"Write to me." Celebrían squeezed Charlotte's fingers, looking up at the uncertain elleth mounted atop the giant elk. "I am sincere in my desire to be a friend to you, and will let no manner of distance deter me."

"I promise," she said, and then the party was off, picking their way up the winding mountain path and leaving behind the softly glowing newlyweds.

They spent hours picking their way up the winding stone path that clung to the mountainside, always with the House of Lord Elrond in view behind them. King Thranduil and Amroth led the party, with the ladies and Legolas sandwiched between guards behind them.

"There it is," Meluieth said, nodding her head over her shoulder to the picturesque house in the valley. "This is the last view of the Imladris. From here, it's through the High Pass and into the Wilderlands. Are you certain?"

Charlotte squeezed the reins tighter, clutching to Legolas's tiny stars, and studied the vibrant pink sunset bathing the lush valley. The elk rustled impatiently beneath her. The contingent of elves parted and flowed around them, unconcerned with the precipice Charlotte felt herself standing on.

She felt a hundred different replies bubble up inside her. Was she certain? No. She wasn't certain about anything. For the first time in a long time, she had a choice before her. In a way, she had chosen to care for her mother, but that singular choice had impacted all the ones that followed. This moment was purely, selfishly, her own. "Is it possible to be certain about the unknown?" she said instead, and with a gentle clumsy nudge at her elk, she stepped forward to meet the wilderness ahead.

* * *

Translations:

Iell nin- My daughter (best guess)

elleth - (singular) female elf

ellith - (plural) female elves


	9. Pride's Wounds

Her thighs were pounding, and it was entirely her own fault.

The first hours of travel from Imladris had been relatively peaceful, with minimal talk from the elves. In the crags of the high pass, even whispers had a chance of echoing. Despite Meluieth's promise that the Greenwood elves rode quickly, the progress up the mountain was decidedly sluggish, partially due to the thin layer of slush that coated the rocky passages from early snow that didn't survive the late autumn temperatures.

Elves were forced to dismount their horses at the narrow gaps so they could gently sing and cajole their steeds through the tight spaces.

Charlotte's steed would not be coddled, however. The elk's obstinacy led to him wedging his antlers between the cliff faces halfway through the first day. With a long-suffering sigh only her elk could muster, he fought and yanked and tugged himself free, and then, much to the bemusement of the elves, turned his head sideways to the left, so his antlers ran parallel to the walls, and he walked blindly through the gap with only a stunned Charlotte leading him through with the reins.

Legolas had been enthralled by the move, and danced at Charlotte's heels at each crossing, eagerly asking, "Can I lead him? Please?" Of course, Charlotte would always allow him, and Legolas spent a large part of the first day at her side, much to the joy of the elves around them.

Lothuial was particularly interested in Legolas's presence and rattled off strings of Elvish to him that Charlotte could obviously not understand. The rain and rough travel hardly allowed Galadriel to teach Charlotte any Elvish, and she doubted she'd be fluent enough, in the beginning, to understand Lothuial anyway. Legolas's responses were monosyllabic and polite in return and gave no indication as to the topic of the discussion. Charlotte's only measure of the conversation was Meluieth's barely contained glee.

"She speaks to the prince about her horse," Meluieth whispered to Charlotte with a roll of her eyes, before she quietly translated. "Is he not the most beautiful? He is incredibly fast, you know, likely the fastest trained horse in the Greenwood. Perhaps I can speak to your adar about taking you for a ride on the plains beyond the pass."

On and on the elleth went, and when they reached the next pass and had to dismount once more, she quickly seized the approaching prince's attention before he could reach Charlotte. Legolas kept darting a glance at the elk's reins before finally saying, "I apologize, Lady Lothuial, but Charlotte is waiting for me to help her with the elk."

Charlotte didn't catch what the elleth said next, but she grew concerned when she saw little Legolas's back stiffen. "Charlotte is my friend," he said and turned to stomp away before adding over his tiny shoulder, "and it's rude to speak in a language that others nearby don't understand. Mother says-" He froze, his lip quivered, and his voice cracked as he continued, "It is a prince's duty to unify his people."

A single tear was briefly visible before he wiped it away under the pretense of straightening his waist-length blond hair.

"Here you go." Charlotte handed the elfling the reins. The elk snuffled at Legolas's hair until he earned a half-hearted giggle, and then the beast puffed up proudly. Charlotte sent the elk a grateful smile.

Legolas was still muted as he walked the elk through the tight gap, and he handed the reins to Charlotte on the other side with quiet thanks. She did not see him at the next crossing; he stayed with Amroth and Thranduil in the lead.

Unfortunately, she was stuck with Lothuial since all of the elleth traveled close together between the guards, and for better or worse (definitely worse, in Charlotte's opinion), Lothuial had taken Legolas's words to heart.

"It's such a pleasant ride, is it not?" She said, finally speaking Common Tongue. She was a stunning elleth, all long graceful limbs, and smooth, shiny blond hair. "A pity we must travel slowly to adjust to the inexperienced in the group. I had hoped to make it to the Greenwood in time for _Mereth Nuin Giliath_."

"_Mereth Nuin Giliath_ is not until December!" Eithoril cried. "Surely, we should not take so long as that!"

"It is upsetting, I know, but we must endure. Still, I should have liked to have seen it. Perhaps next year, when we do not face such delays and travel."

Charlotte was silently fuming above her elk. Inexperienced! She could drive a manual, thank you very much, and was confident that a few days on horseback- or "elkback" as it were- would be well within her power.

So she bounced along on the elk's back, carefully ensuring she stayed ahead of Eithoril and Lothuial at all times. She was the last to dismount and the first to clamber back on after leading the elk through the gaps.

But each dismount grew harder, and on the third day of the journey, rain lashed at the mountains, and lightning cracked across the sky. Storms raged for days, and the elves marched onward through the rivulets of water that sought their way down the mountain.

She was damp and chilled and smelled like wet elk. Her hips twinged with each bump and jostle, and her thighs began to burn and ache until she found herself walking slightly bow-legged to prevent the skin from grazing. By the fifth day of riding, she no longer dismounted, and blessedly the rain gave way to brilliant blue skies as they came down the other side of the High Pass. The party was soon gliding like shadows beneath the pines on the worn dirt roads that trailed beyond the eastern side of the mountains.

When they stopped to make camp that evening, Charlotte was exhausted. She hobbled as close to the fire as she dared, neglected to even set up a bedroll, and quickly dropped into sleep without eating anything or shifting out of her damp clothes.

Sometime in the night, she woke herself with her own shivering. The elves were able to see a squirrel in the trees on a moonless night, and she'd discovered that while they were not impervious to the cold or heat, the elves were easily able to tolerate a broader range of climates than the average human. Charlotte had somehow missed this particular attribute, and the once bright fire had long grown cold and dark.

She clenched her teeth together to keep them from rattling and cursed herself for not laying out a blanket and cursed herself again for her own lack of horsemanship. Her legs and butt and back were burning, and they still had weeks to go! Balled on the forest floor quaking, she committed to a long night of little sleep and hoped, since they were resting the horses for the day, that she would get to curl up in a sunbeam like a cat and nap later. With that hope in heart, she dozed in and out, flinching at the cracking branches and rustling leaves, until the last elf on the night watch rose and set about waking the camp while singing:

_The night was just the moon and me_

_And the whispers of a calling sea_

_But now it's time to wake and greet_

_the sun who wants for you to meet_

_Wrens and thrushes whistle too_

_Long do they wait to sing to you_

_Awake! fair elves in mountain's bow_

_Eryn Galen awaits us now._

It had the opposite intended effect: the soothing voice lulled her back to sleep in the pink dawn, and she was content for a while.

Until a cold, wet alarm clock nudged her cheek.

She opened her eyes and nearly shrieked. The elk, who she really had to name soon so she could adequately chastise him, was inches from her face looking rather pleased.

"You're part cat, I swear it," she mumbled and felt an innocent sliver of glee at the elk's mock-offense. "Finally warming up to me?"

She hissed as she stood and tottered. Her thighs brushed, causing her to jerk in pain, and she toppled over, arms flailing until one hand captured the tine of an antler. The elk slowly pulled her upright.

"Thanks."

Charlotte reached down to poke at her legs and hips in curiosity. There was a steady burning, but she had to bite her lip when she reached the tops of her inner thighs where she swore there were two extremely painful golf balls embedded beneath her skin.

Meluieth came around the elk just then with a bundle of fresh clothing and, catching sight of Charlotte's agonized expression, tutted and slid an arm through hers and tugged her toward the tree line.

"I feared you would be so stubborn." She tsked and pulled a small satchel from her pocket. "You are fortunate we're resting today."

"Have mercy on a poor injured woman. Where are you dragging me?"

"Elleth."

"What?"

"You're no longer a woman, Charlotte. You're one of us now."

Charlotte sighed, and then winced as she stepped over a fallen tree branch. "I keep forgetting that."

Meluieth's frown softened, and she gave her arm a squeeze. "You'll have plenty of time to get used to it."

Thousands of years stretched before her, and she had no idea what she would do with a life so long. She changed the topic instead. "You never answered my question."

"I'm taking you downstream to soak before the others fully wake. The cold will help, as will this." She bounced the satchel in her free hand.

As it turned out, the satchel contained a roll of soft linen bandages wrapped around a thick vial of clear fluid.

"Witch hazel," Meluieth grinned proudly, turning the bottle to catch the sun's pink rays until it seemed to blush. "Made it myself. I had assistance, of course. I'm not supposed to make it on my own just yet."

Charlotte took a quick guess, "Lord Elrond is teaching you medicine?"

"His first apprentice in 400 years." She squeezed the vial tightly and studied the stream ahead. "It's mostly letters back and forth, but once a year, a party of elves makes the journey to Imladris, and the king encourages me to attend. He knows I do not wish to be a lady's maid forever."

"Is there not a doctor in Greenwood you could learn from?"

"There is a healer, but he is weary from the last war, and every day he slips closer to fading. The war decimated our people; those who weren't slain in battle, found their spirits weakened by the Dark Lord's hold in the south. We lost many to grief, and there are so few of us now. There have been no elflings born. A century after his destruction, we feel it creeping into our fëa; our people are hurting, and I fear many will choose to sail west before long."

Meluieth took a deep breath and forced a bright smile. "But perhaps our luck has changed."

Charlotte felt her stomach twist at the idea that Meluieth referred to her. The necklace had been suspiciously silent since departing Imladris, and she hadn't figured out what exactly it did.

She glanced at the antlered jewelry adorning her chest. Her mother had been so proud to give it to her, this gift from a stranger. The necklace was a permanent reminder of the last twenty minutes she would ever get with her mother, her real mother, not the shade left behind for years. For that brief hiccup of time, she'd been seen and known and had it cruelly ripped away.

No, she thought with a shake of her head, best not to think about that. She smoothed her hand across the pain in her chest and tightened the reins on her emotions. Later. She'd deal with it all eventually. Maybe.

Instead, she let Meluieth convince her to strip down and sit bare on one of the smooth rocks in the stream. She was thankful for the days of rain, as they'd swirled down the mountain and swelled the stream, so it easily covered her hips sitting down. She sighed once she was immersed in the cold water, enjoying the small amount of relief it offered.

Meluieth helped scrub her long hair and left Charlotte to tend to the rest by herself while she soaked the bandages in the witch hazel concoction. Charlotte was soon wrapped in bandages, freshly clothed, and laying spread eagle on the bank with her eyes closed and her feet soaking in the running water.

"The others should be moving about by now." Meluieth was twining the remaining bandages around the glass vial to guard it. "I'll finish this and see if I can assemble breakfast for us. Why don't you stay here and soak?"

Charlotte rolled up on her elbows. "I'll come along and help."

"We still have three weeks of riding ahead of us. It would be best if you stayed there and let the witch hazel do its work without you walking around and making things worse." She softened the reprimand with a gentle smile and left the injured elleth sprawled in the grass.

Charlotte flopped back with a sigh, feeling utterly useless and dreading another three weeks of riding. Having to clamor onto the elk's back once more caused her to clench her toes.

She flung an arm over her eyes and sighed. "I am a prideful idiot."

"Most mortals are," a voice said.

She froze. This was the absolute last person she wanted to see her like this, stretched out in pain with bandages laced around her thighs. Not that he could see them through her leggings. Then she caught on to what he had said.

"Most of us are not prideful." She glared, and then mumbled, "I'm apparently just a special case."

He laughed, full and rich, and so unexpected that even he looked surprised by it. It softened his face, and Charlotte enjoyed the play of light in his eyes from the few beams of sunlight that danced in the trees.

His ornate robes had been abandoned, and he wore an outfit very similar to her own: form-fitted leggings in a dark grey and a silver tunic with his usual high collar. Three polished leaf buttons marched their way down the center of his chest, and then the tunic split, sweeping out around his hips and thighs. His long pale hair was unadorned today, and she briefly wondered where he stored his enormous branching crown on such journeys. He looked decidedly more approachable this way.

If only he wouldn't open his mouth.

"It is interesting," he said, his voice silky, "how you still use 'us.'"

"It's an adjustment." Charlotte turned away, leaning her head back and closing her eyes to bask in the glow of the rising sun.

"Indeed."

She peeked an eye open and found him staring at her like an extra piece to a puzzle that he didn't know what to do with.

"I've been, well, 'not mortal' for less than two weeks. I've spent my whole life being human.

"Do you remember how you passed?" He shuffled toward the bank, and gracefully folded his limbs under him.

She whirled to face him. "I didn't die."

But her mother did- her sweet mother who made her pancakes on her birthday and sang Norah Jones off-key while she dusted and hated folding laundry, so she hung it all on plastic hangers.

Charlotte tried to swallow the lump in her throat. When that failed, she took a deep, shuddering breath and stood. The jerky move splashed Thranduil.

He reached up to grasp her hand. It was warm and firm and slightly calloused where his fingers met the palm, and Charlotte felt the heat spread up her arms until it flushed her cheeks.

"I apologize." He said solemnly. "It was not my intent to upset you, and I realize now my question was insensitive."

"It's fine, really, it's not that." She bit her lip and then forced a wobbly smile, tugging her hand free in the process. She felt her heart thundering against her ribs. "I should check on…" she scrambled for a suitable answer, "my elk. He's so far from home with strangers, so I'm sure he's probably worried without me."

And she fled, as fast as her throbbing limbs would allow her, awkwardly stumbling through thickets and over fallen branches left by the storms, feeling the burn of his gaze until the trees shrouded her from view.

She spent the rest of the day avoiding him, although she frequently felt the pressure of his eyes.

Legolas was a frequent companion who was mercifully able to entertain himself. They spent the day nibbling on berries and Lembas bread, a thin square cake wrapped in leaves with a sweet taste and crumbly texture that she could sadly only manage a small bite of.

Legolas laughed at her disappointment in the way of a child who knows more than the adult, as if she were silly for thinking she could eat the whole cake.

"It's for long journeys," he said, breaking off a tiny corner and popping it into his mouth. "You only need a single bite to fill your stomach."

"What happens if you eat more than that?"

"I don't know, but Naneth..." He sighed, and Charlotte regretted asking. "It is impossible to do."

"Just you wait, Legolas," she said. "I bet you I can find someone who can eat the whole thing in one sitting."

His lips twitched. "You won't find anyone, but I accept your wager. I'll even give you until we sail west across the sea."

Charlotte laughed, ignoring the twinges of pain skittering through her abs and down her legs. "How magnanimous of you."

From then until sunset, he chased the elk around the clearing, taught her a few basic Sindarin phrases, and, thankfully, at one point in the afternoon, they curled up against the elk and napped in the sunlight. Meluieth helped her disappear to the stream three more times to soak and change her bandages, and the swelling was receding slowly.

It was one of the best days Charlotte remembered having in a long time, and she fell asleep that night with a broad smile on her face. This time, she ensured she had a blanket.

.

.

.

_Mereth Nuin Giliath_\- The Feast of Starlight (This name isn't Tolkien-canon but came from _The Hobbit_ movies, and it's the name the film gave to the feast Tolkien mentions during the chapter where the dwarves are imprisoned in Mirkwood. That happened around September and was likely an Autumnal Equinox celebration. I've used it as the name of the feast for the Winter Solstice because that is the longest night of the year, and it would be the perfect night to honor Varda and her stars- the night where the elves can view them for the most amount of time.)


	10. Evasion Tactics

Meluieth's witch hazel bandages staved off the worst of the burning during the ride the next day, but the deep ache in her legs and core still made traveling miserable. Even without it, the mere presence of Lothuial and Eithoril ensured that she wouldn't have a moment of peace while they rode.

With the Misty Mountains and the echoing High Pass growing fainter at their backs, all of the elves were more lively. They trotted under the trees on horseback, laughing and singing, with their long hair fluttering behind them like banners. In the lead, amongst the royal guards for _Eryn Galen_ and _Lórinand_, little Legolas rode between Amroth and Thranduil, followed by Celeborn and Galadriel, and then Charlotte and the other elleths. The remaining fifty or so elves, all ellons with swords and bows strapped to their lithe frames, filled in the sides and rear of the party.

"It's a two-day ride to the Old Ford," Meluieth said during one of the few breaks in the ride. "From there, we travel north to the Forest Gate."

Charlotte had wanted to cling to the elk, but Meluieth insisted she dismount and slip into the woods to change her bandages. The cooling sensation on her sores made it easier to ride, so she had readily acquiesced.

"And how much farther from there?" Charlotte asked. She pulled the leggings up around the bandages, making sure not to roll the linen under her pant legs. Meluieth's grimace made her groan.

"You will be fine." Meluieth tucked the bandages and the rapidly declining witch hazel away. "I wouldn't let my first real patient die."

"I would hope I wouldn't die from this."

"Oh, you certainly could. It's a serious injury you have there," Meluieth said. She grinned, "That rampant pride of yours is bound to get you into mischief."

"If only you had medicine in your bags for such a thing. I could picture at least three elves I would give it to immediately."

Meluieth sobered, her brows drawing low over her bright blue eyes. "Do not let her prod you into foolishness. She knew what she was doing and now sees that it was successful. She will try again."

"I know," Charlotte sighed.

They remounted and set off again, and she found herself growing grumpier with each passing mile that she spent with Lothuial and Eithoril.

Lothuial had gleefully noticed Charlotte's discomfort, though not its extent, and had taken it upon herself to offer her professional advice.

"It is all in training," Lothuial was saying to Charlotte. The elleth had braided the sides of her golden hair back at the temples and sat regally atop her own chestnut mare. "I have been riding for thousands of years, so it's hardly an adequate comparison, but I am sure that you could improve marginally with some instruction. When we reach _Eryn Galen_, you should inquire about lessons with Rocher. He's trained all of the elflings for the past thousand years. I'm sure he'd be able to do something with you."

Charlotte forced a smile, "Thank you for your suggestion. I'll consider it, but I'm doing well enough under the circumstances."

"He could likely help you find a more appropriate mount, as well," she continued as if Charlotte hadn't spoken at all. "You should at least ride like a Greenwood elf, though you are not one of us."

Eithoril nodded her head, "Do not be discouraged. Elves are known for their wisdom, and we have always shared our knowledge with those who are less advanced. With time and effort on your part, you can learn much."

"Oh, surely! They will be pleased to have an elfling in their instruction again," Lothuial said. "It has been far too long since they have been able to teach such an untouched young mind."

Charlotte bit her lip and clenched the reins tighter, carefully avoiding tugging on them. The elk shifted under her body and picked up his pace anyway.

She wanted to argue with them. Wanted to tell them that she was a first-generation university student. She fluently spoke three languages. Anything to prove them wrong. But those things meant very little in Middle Earth, where it was common to be at least bilingual, and universities didn't exist. Besides, there were people in her modern world that looked down on university education as lacking "real world" experience. No, she knew that it would be a worthless endeavor to sell herself to them when they would never see her value.

Her aching limbs and tired body had her feeling mopey anyway, and she couldn't help but partially agree with them. She'd told Celebrían as much when she first arrived; she was not equipped to succeed in this life.

"Yet," the small spark of her heart whispered, "You're not ready _yet_."

She pulled her shoulders back. She would choose her own worth like she always did. If she decided to stay in the Greenwood, she would be just fine. After all, she'd been through much worse than a few weeks of hard travel.

And that brought her thoughts to a painful halt.

Her heart raced. She barely noticed the parade of elves filtering into a clearing to set camp for the night. The days were growing shorter, and they traveled until after sunset, resting only when their tired mounts could no longer see as well.

She was thankful they were stopping. Her lungs felt tight. Panting breaths tumbled over her dry lips. Her eyes burned.

It's funny how little everyday things reminded her of the fact she was trying to forget; how one minute, her agony was safely ensconced in the box she'd closed it in, and a small comment or thought would pry open the lid like Pandora.

She tamped it down. "Not here, please," she thought and flung herself off the elk and dove into the trees the second he halted.

Her feet flew, floating over the decaying leaves and roots, flinging her far beyond the sound of Lothuial and Eithoril's gleeful tittering.

If only they knew what she wrestled. She paced. She couldn't deal with this right now. She wouldn't. Later. She'd think about it later. Decide later. She bit down hard on her lip. Swiped angrily at the moisture in her eyes.

These people were counting on some far-fetched belief that she would be able to help them in some way. She'd made a promise to Legolas. She couldn't afford to break down, to become weak.

There was a rustling sound, a snap, and she turned.

"It's not safe to be so far from camp," Thranduil said.

She envied his collected appearance, his cool, aloof expression. He was dressed plainly again, though he carried his scabbard loosely in his hand, and the pommel shined brightly in the rising moon.

"I just needed a moment. I'm not used to so much company," she lied.

"You're used to being alone?"

"Yes," she said. "No. It's different."

His presence was a welcome distraction for once, but it made her wonder. "Why are you here?"

"Do kings not require solitude?"

"Do they?"

His lips quirked. "Indeed. Sometimes."

It was silent for a moment, with only the chirping insects filtering through the trees.

"I should go," she said, though she didn't move.

"You're welcome to stay."

"Oh?" She smiled teasingly. "That's very kind of you, considering I was here first."

He rolled his eyes, plopping onto the grass in the same way she'd seen Legolas do dozens of times. "Mortals," he humphed. "Always believe you own a piece of land because you're currently standing on it."

She dropped gingerly to sit across from him, a good three-foot distance between their bent legs. "Kings," she wrinkled her nose, "always believe they own something even if it was never theirs to begin with."

He sighed, and she regretted it. He surprised her by saying, "If only this king had possessed that wisdom sooner."

"I'm sorry." She bit her lip, and picked at the tall grass, deciding. "Were you married long?"

"Not long at all," he said. "In fact, we were never married." He glanced up through thick dark lashes, studying her face, and she saw his shoulders relax at whatever he found. "I'm unused to that."

"What?"

"Compassion," he shifted, extending his legs outward. "I see how easily you give it to others. In truth, it's why I tracked you into the woods yesterday, and again now."

"I don't understand."

"I wanted to thank you," he stretched his arms behind him, leaned back on his palms. "It hasn't escaped my attention how you have been a friend to Legolas. You're good with him."

"Legolas deserves good friends."

"He does."

Something in his tone made Charlotte think that Thranduil thought himself undeserving of loyal companions.

"It's beautiful out here," she found herself saying. "There's so much light pollution where I'm from. I've never seen this many stars."

"Elves love the stars," he said. "When the elves woke in Middle Earth, it was the first thing they saw. Elbereth crafted each of them for us."

His face held that soft expression again, as if, for a moment, he'd forgotten to wear his kingly facade.

"It's peaceful." She said and stretched her legs and crossed them at the ankle. The night was silent save for the sounds of the nocturnal critters moving about the undergrowth. Somewhere in the distance, a deer or a fox scampered through the sodden leaves.

"Yes…" Thranduil looked surprised, his eyes tracing the glittering stars above. "I suppose it is."

"Not much time for kings to stargaze?"

He smiled, though his eyes looked sad. He opened his mouth to say something and froze.

"Run to camp." He sprung to his feet, pulling her up and pushing her toward the treeline. "Now."

She didn't have time to question him. He shoved her with his body, wrapping his arms around her to keep her from falling, just as the arrow struck the tree behind her.

"Run!" He grabbed her hand, dragged her over leaves as orcs filtered through the trees behind them.

The beasts were screaming, guttural and deep, as they charged. Their bows twanged, and Thranduil forced her aside again.

The largest one, with bat-like ears and an overflowing mouth of long narrow teeth, screeched, "_Vras buruk! Kafazan gruiuk!_"

She peeked over her shoulder as she ran. The orcs kept pouring out from the trees. Their deformed snarling faces all focused on the two fleeing elves.

Thranduil had pulled his sword out, though she doubted he would stand a chance against so many. He was shouting as he pulled her, "_Telir yrch! Maetho i megil dhîn! Telir yrch!"_

They were so close to camp. She could see the flurry of movement ahead, the warm flicker of the fires. She prayed Legolas had already been whisked to safety.

She screamed as a thick hand seized her hair and yanked. She toppled backward, losing Thranduil's hand. The orc who grabbed her grinned, his pungent breath fanning across her face as dragged her into the mass of rushing orcs, snarling and pulling her hair until chunks of strands snapped from her scalp.

Thranduil was shouting somewhere, and she felt the tightness in her belly, the panic swelling through her lungs. She kicked and elbowed and tried to thrust her head back into the beast's face.

A jagged blade pressed at her throat, and she stilled. Her eyes felt hot. She swallowed tightly, feeling the blade press further.

The creature was worse up close. The moonlight cast long shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and under his pin-prick pupils. His teeth were flecked with red. Bones and lumps jutted from his face, and a putrid rotting smell oozed from him. Red painted eyes decorated his armor like blood droplets from a great beast.

The orc released her hair to seize her neck, and his eyes gleamed at the softly glowing necklace at her throat. He sniffed it, deep rustling whiffs, before he grinned. The stench wafted from the orc's mouth as he called out, "_Parar iuk uorkormajal! Drepa avhe nauk-ukav!_"

Thranduil was getting farther away. She could vaguely see his blond hair whirling as he spun and ducked, slicing through orcs, shouting. The clang of steel rang through the forest. The elves had joined the fray, surging to protect their king.

The orc dragged her behind the last line of the oncoming horde, where he stopped long enough to tie her hands together. She tensed as he twined the rope around her wrists and pulled them as far apart as his bruising grip allowed. She prayed it would be enough.

"Run," he growled, and she did, dragging behind him by the stretch of rope he used as a leash.

Her thighs were burning. The echoes of the battle raged behind her, growing fainter with each step. No one would be coming to her rescue. It didn't bother her; she was used to handling herself.

She was on her own, and if she couldn't find a way out, she would likely die alone at the hands of a monster in a world not her own. She moved as slowly as she dared, trying to buy time, trying to come up with an escape plan.

The orc wouldn't have it though. He snarled as she faked tripping over a tree root. Grabbing the rope in both thick hands, he reeled her in as she squirmed and pulled. He waved the dagger, it's wicked blade glinting.

"Any more trouble and I spit you and roast you. Orders or no," he said.

He ran her until she thought she would collapse, stumbling over her own feet, sliding in the dirt before she could scramble her legs under her again. The moon traveling over the sky was her only indication of time. Had the others survived? Was Meluieth tending to the wounded with her satchel of remedies? Did Legolas make it out? Her elk? Amroth?

A part of her worried for Thranduil. He'd looked terrifying and fierce, a blond whirlwind decimating the enemy ranks. He'd been so arrogant, insulting her on the first night they met, but tonight she'd seen a brief blurry glimpse of a softer side. One she'd likely never get to explore. A distant owl hooted as if in agreement, and then there was silence.

They rested very little. He stopped long enough to let her catch her breath, and then she was trundling along behind him again. As an elf, she ran farther and faster than she ever could have as a human, but she still had limits, and she'd been riding injured for days. Her eyelids sagged. Why was she still alive? Blindly, she unwillingly chased him, catching her toes, trying and failing to keep pace, so the rope didn't chafe as much.

The beast was muttering ahead of her.

"The reward I'll get," he said. His thick tongue swept across his jagged teeth as he studied her weary frame over his shoulder. He gave the rope a hard tug. "Urukbúrz has been looking for you. Pretty, useless thing, I said. Would have stripped the meat off you days ago. Wargs. _Skai!_ Scared away from fresh meat by an elk."

She was shaking when he threw her into the grass to rest. Her back pressed against the oak trunk behind her. The line went slack, and she felt a glimmer of hope until she noticed him tying the rope to the branch above her.

"Stay here, pretty elf," he laughed, a sound more like hacking gasps. "Won't be gone long. Just picking up a snack for the road. I haven't had good meat in days, and I'll settle for one of those arms if you try anything."

She waited only until he disappeared into the trees, and then she was twisting and pulling her hands through the ropes, praying they had enough give in them. Her right hand jerked free first, and she was able to loosen the left, so it too popped out.

Her ears picked up the sound of running water to the east. If she could make it that far, she might be able to lose him, though she'd run into another problem: reuniting with the elves if she survived. Still, it was the best chance she had.

Her progress was agonizingly slow, but she was close enough to the river that the trees were thinning out, and she could see the rippling water. The moon sat high overhead, fuller and brighter than she'd ever witnessed at home. It illuminated the forest so she could place her feet with confidence, but it also meant she was easily spotted.

She heard the snarl before she felt him. True to his word, he hadn't been gone long enough, and he'd silently tracked her.

"Oomph!" The air jerked from her lungs as he tackled her, and her head smacked painfully on the ground.

She pinched her lips and whimpered when his slick hand sealed her mouth. Bile rose in her throat. Her fingers searched frantically, her hands moving over the gaps in his ill-fitted armor, pushing his crushing weight. Then she found it, and her shaking hands closed around the cold metal.

"Shhh, pretty elf," He whispered, a low cackle following. "Shouldn't have run. No, no, it's good for me though. Arm for dinner, and all to myself! Have to wait until we're further south. Things move about here. Best not to linger."

And then his eyes blew wide as she rammed the dagger, his own blade, into his side. It didn't go deep; she wasn't expecting the resistance, but he reared back and screamed, and she panicked, holding the blade above her just as he came roaring down, where he impaled himself through his neck.

He gurgled, lurched, and dropped on her.

She couldn't get him off, couldn't breathe. Her hands shoved at his soaked armor, slipping and smearing the blood. There was a horrible sound echoing in her ears. Screaming, sobbing, coming from her own throat. The steady thunder of hoofbeats matched her raging heart, and she flailed under the body. She couldn't get him off. She was trapped.

"Charlotte!" she heard, and then the earth was pounding beneath her skull.

The weight was ripped from her, and there he was, scooping her into his arms and carrying her away from the corpse.

"You're safe," Thranduil murmured. There were splashes of red across his forehead, his cheeks. She couldn't stand the sight. She recoiled, but he pulled her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. Hushing her softly. The smell of damp earth and honey pervaded her senses. "I have you. You're safe."

And she gave over to it, shaking and hiccuping into his tunic. Dimly, she heard Amroth's stunned voice.

"She killed it?" he said, keeping pace with them. "By herself?"

"Burn the body," Thranduil ordered another elf. He stopped suddenly, and huffing breaths blasted her neck. "Your master returned to you," Thranduil said.

Charlotte felt a cold, wet nose brush her skin. She turned, saw the huge silver eyes of her elk studying her with concern, and reached out to run her fingers through his fur. Her lip wobbled, and she forced her breaths to even as she pet him. She felt cold and weak, each stroke across his coat was both soothing and exhausting.

"She's in shock, Thranduil," Amroth whispered. "We need to get her warm, or we risk her fading. Even now, her light dims."

"Take the guards back with you. I trust you to lead my people. You can meet us on the other side of the Anduin."

"You don't mean to take her _there_?"

"It's the closest shelter. We risk him turning us away or her fading here."

She felt him transfer her quaking body to Amroth, heard her own soft protest before Amorth brought her closer to the elk's face. She wrapped both hands around the elk, pressed her face into his muzzle. His fur grew damp under her cheek.

Thranduil tore off his cloak and mounted the elk, and then the elk's face was slipping from her fingers. Amroth was handing her up to Thranduil, who wrapped his cloak around her and pinned her to his body with his arm. His heat radiated through her back, and she fell boneless into him.

"Please watch over Legolas."

"You hardly need to ask. I will guard him with my life," Amroth said. "We'll burn the corpses tonight and follow you in the morning. _Boe annin mened. Galo Anor erin râd lîn._"

"_Ci athae_."

The elk shifted under the weight of two riders. Charlotte was seated sideways in Thranduil's lap and clung his tunic. She knew his arm wouldn't allow her to fall, but her hands needed something, needed to feel some measure of control over her own safety.

"Come, mellon," Thranduil said to the elk. Charlotte felt his thighs tense beneath her as he nudged the elk into a gallop.

She shivered, felt her eyes closing, and knew she was losing the battle to stay conscious. Somewhere in her brain, she was miffed about it. She was not a fainting damsel! But the body doesn't care for pride when shocked and traumatized, and a small forgotten part of her that was horrified at what she'd done, at the blood she could feel drying on her skin, was thinking that being taken care of by someone, even a king simply doing his duty, eased an ache she didn't realize she had.

"You are not allowed to fade," Thranduil whispered above her. She was surprised at the element of panic that laced his words. She could picture the downward turn of his lips behind her closed lids. "Legolas will not lose another elleth in his life. My people need you. Do not fade, Charlotte. I'm going to get you help."

If he said anything else, only the elk and the stars heard him.

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Translations:

Elbereth- Elbereth Gilthoniel. The Sindarin name for Varda, Queen of the Valar and Manwë's wife. She first appears in this fic at the end of chapter 1.

_Vras buruk! Kafazan gruiuk! _— Kill all the men! Capture all the women!

_Telir yrch! Maetho i megil dhîn! Telir yrch! _— Orcs are coming! Draw your swords! Orcs are coming!

_Parar iuk uorkormajal! Drepa avhe nauk-ukav! _— I have the elf! Kill the rest!

_Skai!_ — Hmpf! (An expression of contempt)

_Boe annin mened. Galo Anor erin râd lîn. _— I must go. May the sun shine upon your path.

_Ci athae_. — Thank you.

Mellon — friend

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AN: A huge thank you to you wonderful reviewers! Feedback and connection is the life blood of any writer, and I'm beyond thrilled to be sharing this journey with you. I let my own self-doubt keep me away from writing for nearly a decade, so I appreciate your patience, love, and guidance as I stretch these atrophied muscles again.


	11. Illumination

Charlotte felt truly warm for the first time since she was dragged from her home. Her limbs were pleasantly heavy, and for a moment, she let her mind imagine that she was in her studio apartment in Virginia, waking up from a bizarre dream. In the delirium of her mind, she decided that it was a Saturday, and she could sleep for an extra hour before crawling from bed to the coffee pot.

A loud snort disrupted that illusion.

She cracked her eyes open and found the proud Elvenking asleep in a second bed beside her. Her grin was instantaneous. He had tangled himself in his sheet, his hair askew, his mouth open, and one arm dangling toward the floor. The moon splashed across his relaxed face, highlighting his dark lashes and caressing his pale cheeks.

The snort sounded again, and she was surprised that it didn't come from Thranduil's direction but rather from behind her. She rolled, and there was the elk, asleep on the floor beside her bed. Much like Thranduil, he had one foreleg and hindleg extended, his chin pressed against the straw bedding, and he was out cold. As she watched, following the curve of his belly as it rose and fell, the elk snorted again and shook his head, his antlers waving.

"That necklace packs a wallop," a voice, low and rumbling like thunder, came from across the room. "I can't blame you. If you hadn't knocked them out, I would've."

The man was two times her height, with long shaggy black hair and a beard that grew past his collarbones in a scraggly point. He carried a tray, though she couldn't see the contents from her vantage point.

"Thranduil says you killed an orc last night?" He said gruffly. "That true?"

She opened her mouth, tried to speak, and couldn't. Her throat was sore, but she cleared it, and hoarsely eked out, "It was an accident."

He raised a bushy brow and set the tray on her lap. "Drink. There's honey in the tea. It'll help."

Stomach rolling, she lifted the wooden mug and sipped. The rest of the tray held small chunks of honeycomb, a little pot of dark amber honey, soft slices of bread the color of molasses, cheese wedges, nuts, thick smooth butter, and clotted cream. There was no way she could eat all of it or even half of it.

The man pulled an enormous black chair to the foot of her bed and dropped into it, stretching his long legs across the floor. "Never seen an elf sleep with his eyes closed," he said. "A feat like that deserves a good meal."

"What did I do?"

"These two were pacing 'round your bed." He jerked his chin at Thranduil. "One moment, he was talking to you in your sleep, that stone of yours lit up like a fire, and then boom! The elk and the elf both fell dead asleep. Eat up, Thranduil says you almost faded."

Charlotte wasn't entirely sure what "fading" meant, but she could guess. She nodded, croaked out a brief thanks, and spread the clotted cream across a slice of the warm bread. Chewing gave her a moment to collect her thoughts.

The room she was in was wide and long, a hall of some sort, with a large firepit in the center. The flames danced and crackled, and the pungent smoke pirouetted up through a darkened hole in the roof. Much like the stables in Imladris, thick tree trunks sprouted from the wooden floors until they branched out to support the roof.

But the most stunning detail of the hall had nothing to do with its architecture. There were sheep, cows, and dogs strolling about the room. Huge bees larger than her palm buzzed, and she was sure, should they decide to sting her, she'd promptly swell up and die on the spot.

There was a startling, almost human quality to the animals. She watched as a border collie pushed through a door on the back wall, letting her have a brief glimpse of a moonlit garden before he loped to the man. The collie placed his paws on the man's leg and arched his muzzle up, and the man tilted his head down as if to hear a great secret.

"The horses have spotted the rest of your party camped about a half a day away," the man said. "Should be here tomorrow."

And then he was standing, striding away after the dog, calling over his shoulder, "I must go. Do not go outside if you value your life. Tomorrow, you can tell me how a scrawny female accidentally kills an orc."

Alone once more, though now concerned about the watching animals, Charlotte set the still heavy tray to her side and focused on slowly drinking the tea. It had an herbal flavor buried beneath a heavy dose of honey and smelled like the lavender sachets her mother put in all the dressers and closets at home.

She rubbed her chest, trying to ease the ache there, and glanced over to find Thranduil studying her.

"You're awake," he said. His voice was still rough from sleep, and she felt an involuntary shiver race down her spine.

"Are you hungry?" She sat up, tucking her legs beneath her, and patting the bed.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and smiled. The soft expression she was coming to enjoy graced his face. "You wish for me to sit on your bed?"

"You are welcome to it," she teased, grinning, and she waved her arm over the burdened tray. "Besides, I doubt, even with your help, I would be able to eat all of this."

Thranduil didn't hesitate. He moved gracefully, tucking his legs beneath him at the foot of the bed, and snatching a slice of bread.

"I have yet to decide whether I should be displeased," He began, spreading butter with long sweeping strokes, "at being knocked unconscious."

"I would apologize, but I wasn't awake myself."

"No," he frowned, "You were not."

"Where are we?"

"This is the Hall of Beorn the Skin-changer," he said. "We're a short ride from the Forest Gate."

Charlotte nibbled on a small golden wedge of sharp cheese and contemplated her next question. She felt like she had one hundred of them. "Tell me everything?" she finally asked.

"It's a short tale, though I feel as if days have passed." He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "But I cannot blame you for wanting to know."

The moon traced across the sky, and the animals settled in the straw-covered edges of the hall as he told her the events following her capture.

"The orcs outnumbered us," he said. "Legolas and the women were taken to safety, and that reduced our number further. We were fortunate that you wandered into the woods because it allowed us to catch them and alert the others as the orcs attempted to sneak upon us. It likely saved a great number of my people."

"There were a few minor injuries. They will likely slow Amroth's journey north, but none of them were gravely injured. Your elk was a great aid in this, if not incredibly reckless. There were too many times where he nearly got himself killed trying to rescue another elf, and frequently, that elf was me. I can't regret it, because he was a fast mount, and he was able to track you quickly. I only wish we had arrived sooner."

Charlotte swallowed painfully, her mind forcing her to relive the weight of the orc, his rancid breath, the cold handle of his dagger, the warmth of his blood spilling over her fingers. She shoved it down, took a forceful gulp of the now-cold tea. It made her think of the crotchety professor she'd worked for, and the life safe from the kind of monsters that inhabited Middle Earth. She wasn't sure which was a more painful memory.

"What happened to my voice?" She croaked.

Thranduil looked haunted for a moment. His silver eyes met hers, and she saw hundreds of years of pain buried within. "You were screaming," He said, his deep voice roughened. "When we found you… and last night, as you slept."

"I'm so sorry," Charlotte twisted her fingers, "You must've already been so tired, and then you were stuck with me, and I'm sure I kept you from sleeping."

Thranduil laughed, though it didn't entirely erase the pain in his eyes, and he reached out to seize her fidgeting hands. "My son is correct," he said. "You are a strange elf." He frowned, squeezed her hand gently until her eyes met his. "You do not have to apologize to me for feeling your own pain."

Charlotte bit her lip. His gentle understanding made her feel anxious and flustered, and she fought the urge to look away. She tried to move toward safer ground. "You called me an elf."

"Are you not one?"

"I am now, I guess." She felt the first drop of blood well up from her lip. His hand was still wrapped around hers, and she found she enjoyed it. There was an odd sense of camaraderie and safety in his grip, and her skin warmed wherever his long elegant fingers touched. "But, you've been calling me a mortal."

"You didn't seem ready to be anything other than a mortal."

"I still don't know if I'm ready."

"Are you at least prepared to find out?" His thumb rubbed smoothly over her skin. It raised goosebumps on her arms, and she was thankful for the long-sleeved tunic someone had placed her in.

Then she realized. "This isn't what I was wearing when I was… When we were separated," she finished.

"Be at ease," he said, "Meluieth arrived this morning with a guard and supplies."

Charlotte's face lit up, and she straightened, nearly upending the depleted dinner tray. "She's here? Where is she? Did she bring Legolas?"

She could definitely use some Legolas and Meluieth time, though she found she didn't quite want to end her peaceful conversation with Thranduil.

"Meluieth is resting in another room," He said. "Legolas remained with Amroth where he could be properly guarded. Likely, my captain will give me an earful upon his arrival for riding out alone without guards."

"I'm sorry..." She started to say, but Thranduil waved her off.

"I have no regrets about my actions, other than I was unable to execute them sooner," he said. "You are not responsible for the choices of others, and it was my choice to protect one of my citizens."

Some part of her withdrew at being referred to as one of his citizens. She didn't know if it was because it implied she wasn't going back to Virginia or something else. Still, she gently pulled her hand free and rubbed it, as if bringing warmth back into her already burning skin.

There was a growling sound outside and a great shuffling that made Charlotte freeze.

"It's only our host," Thranduil whispered. "I've mentioned he is a skin-changer; he morphs into a bear and prowls his domain at night. He'll return to us as a man by morning."

"Is it safe?"

"As long as we stay in here," Thranduil shrugged. "We should probably rest."

"I don't think I can." She rubbed her arms, stared up at the moon high in the sky. "I feel as if I've slept both for days and not at all."

"Then, perhaps, I might offer my services?"

"In what?" A slow smile spread across her face. Thranduil's answering grin made her eyes narrow.

"I may have overheard my sweet little elfling attempting to teach you some Sindarin the other day," he said.

"He's a wonderful kid."

"He is," Thranduil said, and there was a note of sadness in his expression before it cleared away. "Since he is currently farther away than I would like, I humbly offer my services as an instructor."

Charlotte hesitated. When she'd indulged Legolas in a Sindarin lesson, it was really just a way to help him have fun while they traveled. It was why she hadn't taken up Galadriel's offer of instruction. That and the idea of the elleth rummaging around her mind made her feel uncomfortable.

"You don't look enthused by the idea." He arched a brow, and she worried she'd offended him.

"It's not you, honest."

"I know."

"Ha. Smug."

"Confident."

She grinned. "Very well, confident." She ran her hand through her hair, grimacing at the snarls and tangles.

"May I ask why?"

Her head jerked up, met his silver eyes. He looked so earnest. Could she tell him?

"Why are you here?" she asked instead.

His brows dropped, and he frowned. It was obvious he wasn't expecting the question. His long fingers idly twirled a bit of hardened cheese. She felt terrible that so much had gone to waste, though they had placed a sizable dent in the massive portion of food Beorn had given her.

Just as she thought he wouldn't answer, he said, "I trust Beorn, but I do not like the idea of leaving two elleths unguarded so far from _Eryn Galen_."

"Why?"

"Ah, ah," He smiled, waved his bare index finger at her. She could still see a slight line where the skin had darkened around his old ring. "My turn to ask a question."

"Oh, is that how it is then?"

"It is."

"Very well," She laughed, gathering her hair and pulling it all to lay over her right shoulder.

"No lies. No evasions."

Charlotte was nervous now. She knew, once she agreed, she wouldn't go back on her word, and she'd be at the mercy of whatever questions he asked. Thranduil must have seen her hesitation.

"Limit of three." He leaned forward, smiling wickedly. "Where's the brave elleth that told a room full of elvish royalty that she would _not_ be following their plans for her?"

"Oh," she tsked. "Appealing to my pride. Keep in mind that elleth did, in fact, follow their plans in the end, and a certain king never for a moment believed she would do otherwise."

"Should I have?"

"Is that one of your three questions?"

He laughed. "You are a treasure."

Charlotte looked down at her fingers to hide the rush of heat in her face. "Very well, ask you questions."

"What is your favorite flower?"

"That's what you're starting with?"

"I stand by my question."

She scrunched her nose and thought. Sometimes she bought the cheap small bouquets at the grocery store when she had a little extra to spend, but she didn't believe that's what he meant.

She tried to think back, pictured herself pushing the metal shopping cart with the one wheel that whirled widely around. The minuscule flower section in her local supermarket was buried near the produce department and consisted of a single refrigerated case and a kiosk where you could order personalized arrangements or buy glossy mylar balloons.

"Don't laugh," she said finally. Thranduil was entirely still, his silver eyes on hers as if she were about to impart the secrets of the world. "It's cliche, I know, and maybe a little silly, but I love roses. The deep red ones are my favorite; there's something… passionate about them, I guess."

"Why would that be silly?" His soft smile reminded her that he wouldn't know about things like Valentine's Day or romance movies.

"Is that your question?"

"It will have to wait for another time, I suppose."

That, at least, confirmed that he had an agenda going into the game. She was getting the impression that he always had a goal behind his actions. "My turn, then?"

He nodded, though he now looked concerned himself, as if he just realized that he'd opened himself to her inquisition. She decided to start simply just as he had.

"What's your favorite thing about your kingdom?"

"My people," he said quickly. "They are strong. Resilient. We've suffered great losses, including the loss of my adar, their king. After the war ended, our stronghold in the south of the Greenwood was no longer sustainable. Much had been destroyed, and our population was too depleted to defend it. My people picked up their lives, thousands of years of memories and belongings, and followed me north to the Dark Mountains. My people love fiercely. They are survivors. Perhaps, it is another sign that you belong with us."

"I don't feel like I'm surviving much of anything," She swallowed hard and hurried to ask her next question before she lost herself. "Do you miss him still?"

Thranduil knew who she was talking about immediately. "My adar was a wise king and much beloved by our people. We all miss him. It's been over a century, and sometimes I think I see him in a crowd, or I catch a whiff of the oils he used in his bath. Think I hear his voice. He was distant, but kind when he was himself."

He stared up at the burnt hole in the ceiling where the smoke gave way to moonlight. His brows sat low over his eyes, and she could tell he was debating something, so she sat patiently, just as he had.

"My naneth, Renieth, was murdered during the early days of the war. She was out riding with her friend and stayed behind to distract the orcs so her friend could escape. We were in Imladris planning the war when the news arrived, and Adar was almost manic after that. He never returned home. Grief like that leaves a mark on the fëa; each day, the wound grew greater. He made decisions during that time that I think— I hope he wouldn't have made them if he weren't suffering so greatly."

She spared him the pain of hearing, "I'm sorry." She knew that it offered little comfort. Instead, she provided him a distraction. "I think I stole your turn."

"Why are you avoiding learning Sindarin?"

"I—" She bit the inside of her cheek, knowing she had to keep her word. "It's what someone would do if they're staying. You know?" And then she felt the words tumbling out. "Like, if I was just visiting Norway, I might get away with a few phrases in Norwegian, or maybe I could hire a guide, but if I moved there, I would have to learn the language to actually thrive."

"You're avoiding learning it because it would mean you're not leaving," he said carefully.

"I have to go home at some point," She looked down at her fingers twisting in her lap. "I want to help your people. I do. But I don't belong here."

"You could," he said softly, leaning forward to seize her twisting fingers again. "There's a place for you with my people should you want it."

She pulled herself free and grabbed the tray still sitting between them to cover her escape. She was shifting it to the floor, trying to distract herself from the flood of memories, when she spotted two large watery eyes staring at her from the straw.

The elk was awake, with his chin still pressed into his bedding. Long dark streaks in his fur descended from his tear ducts, and he looked utterly miserable.

"Good morning," Charlotte said, dropping to kneel in front of him. Thranduil turned on the bed to watch. She cupped the elk's face gently in her hands. "Or 'good evening' would probably be better. What's this then? Are you hurt?"

The elk leaned forward and nuzzled her cheek.

"I'm alright," she said and ran her hand down his neck. "Thanks to you and Thranduil."

"You seemed to have most of it well in hand, by the time we arrived," Thranduil said.

"Only by luck," she whispered, feeling the jolt's echo from the orc's weight as he impaled himself on the blade.

The elk made a soft, high-pitched cry, the first vocalization she'd heard from him. She lifted his face up, hands under his chin. "I'm so lucky to have your help. I don't know what I would've done after. Thank you."

The poor thing still looked despondent. Charlotte turned to Thranduil, "Are you still offering your services as a language instructor?"

"I'm at your disposal," he said with a half-bow that would've looked graceful if he hadn't still been sitting on her bed.

"Names in Sindarin have meanings, correct?" She asked. "What is the name for 'protector?'"

"Berior," he said with that soft smile of his. "It means exactly that."

"What do you think?" She asked the elk, who somehow looked closer to tears. "I know you understand me. Would it be alright if I called you that?"

He lunged at her, nearly knocking her over, and cradled his chin on her shoulder in what could only be an elk's version of a hug. "Berior, it is."

She stayed on the floor with her back leaning against Berior's side for the rest of the evening as Thranduil taught her the basics of the elvish language. He was an excellent instructor, and her existing knowledge of Latin and Welsh did help somewhat.

At some point, they both drifted off, and a confused Meluieth woke them in the morning. To her credit, Meluieth never asked why Thranduil was in Charlotte's bed, or why Charlotte was asleep on the floor with the newly-named elk.

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AN: Thank you so much for all your lovely comments! I promise, I am getting them. I'm not sure why they're not showing on the review page for this story yet, but I'm seeing them and I'm really grateful that you're all on this journey with Charlotte, all of her Middle Earth companions, and me. Your words mean the world to me! Thank you again!


	12. History and Memory

Thranduil coughed, rubbed the back of his neck, and vanished into the bright sunny garden, leaving Charlotte to face a raised-brow Meluieth by herself.

"Let's get you cleaned up," was all the elleth said, and she sat Charlotte down to help her comb through her long, tangled hair. As she worked the knots, the elleth quietly whispered, "I'm so relieved you are well. When they took you…" And then she fell silent once again.

Charlotte reached back to squeeze her hand, and pretended to ignore the wobbling in Meluieth's laugh when the elleth said, "You said _I _would be the handful, and it seems to be the other way around."

"Technically, I am completely innocent," Charlotte said. "Mostly." Her mind was well aware that it had come down to her life or the orc's, and she didn't regret fighting for her life. But it was different. Talking about defending herself didn't encapsulate the horror that came with feeling another being's life draining through her fingers, and the more she thought about it, the more guilt and hatred warred within her. She despised the orc. She loathed that he stole that sense of innocence she'd long taken for granted. Her body flushed with heat, and she ground her teeth. Why her anyway? It couldn't have been because she escaped from them on the plains before Imladris. It would be ridiculous to track one measly elleth over a hundred miles, through mountains and marshlands, just because she escaped their dinner fire.

Her mind kept replaying it over and over. There had to be a reason, right? She shivered. If there was no logical reason for her attack, it could happen again, no matter what she did. She felt the floor sway underneath her.

"How much farther to these Dark Mountains?" Charlotte asked through bloodless lips.

"You look a bit pale." Meluieth kneeled before her and took her charge's face in her soft hands. "Perhaps you should rest a bit longer."

"What are they like? The Dark Mountains?"

"It's hard to explain. It's a temporary home, but you didn't hear that from me."

"Is it a secret?"

"What it implies is a secret," she winked, "but I hear everything. I have a feeling you'll know soon enough."

No amount of questioning would get Meluieth to reveal any more, and once Charlotte changed into a fresh tunic and leggings, they joined Beorn and Thranduil for breakfast at the enormous oak table. There was minimal talk during the morning. The cocoon that enveloped Charlotte and Thranduil during the night dissipated, and other than hesitant greetings, they didn't speak to each other. Meluieth, observant as always, quickly picked up on the tension and was content to let it play out, leaving the house achingly silent. Charlotte felt her mood darkening with every minute, and eventually, even Beorn grew antsy.

"Come," he said to Charlotte, "You owe me a tale, and the gardens are beautiful. Take a walk with me."

At first, Beorn quietly escorted her through his extensive gardens without asking for any input from her. He pointed out each plant species, told her their names and when he planted them. Roses were popular in his landscaping, and he had many breeds and colors, ranging from pearl to pale pink, and the deep burgundy she'd spoken of to Thranduil in the safety of the night. The huge bees flitted from bloom to bloom, and she was certain to keep a healthy distance from them. The skin-changer's devotion to horticulture was evident, though Charlotte quickly lost track of all of the names he provided.

"I know what you carry," he said as they passed beyond the hedges that encircled his home. Tall golden grass stretched almost to the horizon, and in the distance, a blue-grey smudge was visible: the Greenwood.

"The first one is hard," he continued, his eyes traveling his domain. "The second is easier, and after a long while, you don't even think about it much."

Charlotte remained silent. Thranduil's presence during the night kept her distracted, but with the silence throughout the morning, she'd been left to her thoughts and quickly fell into melancholy.

Her mind was whirling from one moment to the next, watching a memory stream that skipped and froze. One moment, she felt the weight of the body on her, and then time was barreling forward, and blood was waterfalling through her shaking fingers. She felt fragile enough to snap, all her strength temporarily sapped. Charlotte knew, deep down, that she would rally, but at that moment, she didn't want to. She didn't have the energy to pull herself together again yet.

Beorn studied her from under his bushy brows. "If you can help it, save yourself from the apathy that forms. You saved your own life."

"Is that what you did?"

"I avenged lives," he said. He stood proudly beside her. "Once, there were many of my kind, high in the Misty Mountains. If others are remaining besides myself, I have not found them. You and I are alone in the world. The only of our kind."

"There are other elves," she said quietly. It hurt to hear the truth that had been bouncing around her heart for weeks.

"Thranduil has told me your tale," he scratched his beard. "You're a mortal in an immortal's body, and I see your fëa; it's different. You may be some variation of an elf. Like the many roses you've seen here, all of them are roses, and yet each is unique. Your light is not the same as the elves you travel with."

It wasn't the first time she'd heard that. Amroth had made a similar comment during Elrond and Celebrían's wedding feast. Her stomach knotted. "Does that mean something is wrong with it?"

Beorn harrumphed. "Did I say 'wrong?' I said, 'different.' Don't confuse the two."

"Sorry."

"You apologize too much."

"Any other critiques while you're at it?" She was starting to feel feisty.

That got a smirk from the huge man. "There it is. Nice healthy glow. Like a little firefly. Keep it burning."

And with that, Beorn stomped off without a goodbye and left her standing at the edge of the field. Just as she was about to follow him, she spotted horses in the distance, coming up to the house from the south.

She ran inside, calling, "Thranduil! Meluieth! They're here!"

Thranduil sprung from bed, where he'd been polishing the blade of his sword, and was out the door before she could say more. Meluieth was nearly right behind him, and that left Charlotte to escort Berior through the large double doors in the front of the house.

She'd hardly taken a step into the afternoon sun when she was barreled over by a tiny blond sobbing blur. Her butt landed hard on the packed dirt walkway, and her arms came reflexively around the elfing who had tackled her.

"Legolas, _ion nin_," Thranduil came running around the hedge and froze when he saw them cuddled in the dirt together. "I said to wait for me. You must be gentle with her."

"I thought you were gone forever!" Legolas cried. Tears soaked his cheeks, and Charlotte's tunic was growing damp. "I thought you left, and I was all alone, and you were gone!"

Thranduil's mouth was agape, his eyes glassy, before he promptly snapped his jaw shut and hesitantly approached the quaking Legolas. He paused in front of them, lifted his hand, and dropped it to his side. She could see his fingers clenching and releasing.

"I'm alright, Legolas," Charlotte said gently. She used the long sleeves of her tunic to wipe his tears away and then rocked the little elfing in her lap. "I'm here. I missed you too."

"Amroth said you'd been captured by _yrch,_" he hiccuped, "and Adar was missing, and you both didn't come back." Fresh tears welled and crashed over his lashes, and his nose was running over his lips. Face scrunched, he pressed himself into her shoulder and shook and sobbed.

"Shhh," Charlotte rocked him. "It was scary, I know. We're all okay, I promise. Your Adar is safe, and I'm safe, and Berior is safe."

Charlotte felt her heart shattering. She had been worried for him and the others, but she never expected such a strong reaction from Legolas. Why wasn't Thranduil saying something? Why wouldn't he comfort his son?

Thranduil stood wide-eyed, two-feet in front of them. A porcelain statue.

Her stomach dropped to her feet when she realized it. All the pieces had been there. Nemir and Legolas lived in the Havens, and Thranduil ruled the Greenwood on the other side of the mountains. It was taking them a month to get from Imladris to _Eryn Galen_. How much farther was it from the Havens? Legolas had even mentioned visiting once. Once. Singular.

Thranduil didn't know how to comfort his son.

She tried not to jump to conclusions. Legolas was twenty-two. How had he only seen him one time in two decades? They had to have seen each other more than once, right?

She needed to focus, needed to get past the whirling sensation in her head. Legolas. He needed someone right now. It was no wonder he felt so utterly alone. Her chest was burning, mingling with her pain, and it took her a moment to realize the necklace was glowing. She slapped her hand over it, panic swelling inside her, but Legolas stopped her with a gentle hand over hers.

"Please, don't stop," he sniffled. "It feels like your fëa is hugging mine."

How could she stop it now? Instead, she tried to pour more of herself into it, but she couldn't tell if it was working, and Legolas didn't seem to react any differently. His breathing deepened, his shaking subsided, and he hesitantly looked up at her.

"You're really okay?" Legolas sniffled. He peeked at her with watery eyes, and she fought to give him her brightest smile. Thranduil pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Legolas to wipe his face.

"I promise."

"Who's Berior?"

The elk, hearing his name, nudged the back of Legolas's head, stirring the elfing's hair with great puffs from his nose and earning a watery giggle.

"Legolas," Charlotte grinned and waved to the nuzzling elk, "meet Berior."

"You named him?" Legolas was out of her arms in an instant, and, at first, she was worried she upset him again until she saw his broad smile and his two perfect dimples. "It's perfect! It's not _Limlug_, but he doesn't look like a _Limlug_ anyway."

Amroth strolled through the opening in the hedges and greeted them with, "Who doesn't look like a _limlug?_"

Legolas laughed and rubbed his little hands through Berior's fur. "Charlotte's elk. She named him Berior."

"A good strong name for a fearless protector." Amroth nodded sagely and turned to study Charlotte. His eyes roamed from her head to her toes before he issued another curt nod. "I'm glad to see you well, my lady."

"Thank you."

"Thranduil," he said, not taking his eyes off her. "The lord and lady were hoping for a word with you. Perhaps young Legolas would like to get his pack at the same time. I've heard Beorn has extended the invitation for him to stay in the house tonight."

Thranduil scrubbed a hand down his weary face before he summoned Legolas with a wave. "Come, Legolas, let us see what the Lord and Lady desire from us now."

"Do I have to?"

"A prince always obeys his king's orders."

Legolas dropped his chin toward his chest and frowned. Charlotte couldn't stand to see him shuffling morosely behind his adar so soon after his upset. She spoke without thinking, "Would you like to go for a ride on Berior after? If your adar is okay with it?"

The elfling brightened instantly. "Oh, please, Adar? I'll be very safe, and Charlotte will be with me the whole time, and Berior is a good elk and—"

Charlotte bit her lip. She probably should've checked with Thranduil before suggesting it, in case he didn't want Legolas on a behemoth elk. Thranduil, however, was barely containing his laughter.

"Settle, _ion nin_," he said. His twinkling eyes met Charlotte's. "We'll all go. Charlotte still owes me a question."

Charlotte searched her brain. Had he not asked all three of his questions the night before? Had she asked all of hers? Berior's tears had distracted them from their makeshift game, but it seemed Thranduil had, of course, not forgotten. If she remembered correctly, he still owed her a question too, and, looking at Legolas following his adar, she knew exactly what she wanted to ask.

Amroth's palm appeared before her. "May I help you up?"

She grasped his warm hand, and he tugged her to her feet. She could count each of his long eyelashes, and it made her stomach churn, so she pulled her hand free under the guise of dusting herself off and moved to sit on Beorn's porch steps. Amroth settled on the stair beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat off his clothes.

"Has Beorn been hospitable?" He asked.

"He's been very kind."

"Beorn was kind to someone?" He frowned in disbelief. "You weave magic wherever you go then."

That made Charlotte squirm. Had her necklace played a role in Beorn's generosity? She plucked the innocent-looking stone from her chest and studied it. It was warm from her body but lacked the pulsing heat she felt whenever it activated.

Amroth nudged her with his shoulder. "You. Not your necklace. Even Thranduil seems borderline friendly."

She frowned and picked at the hem of her tunic, wondering how long Amroth had known Thranduil. "Was he always so…"

"Tempestuous?"

"I was going to say 'distant.'"

"Thranduil may appear that way, at first." On each side of the stairs were halves of wine barrels exploding with deep blue flowers. Amroth ran his finger down the petal of one, smearing golden pollen from the stamens until it looked like a galaxy trapped in the star-shaped bloom. "We have these in the thousands in _Lórinand. _They're larger than these, but they blanket the forest floor until the sun warms their petals, and then they stretch wide and glow. Even a dwarf would stop to admire the rivers of gold and silver _Elanor_ that flow through _Lórinand_."

"It sounds beautiful," she said, and she meant it.

"You could see it if you'd like to?" He turned his eyes on her. "You don't have to go to _Eryn Galen_. That first night in Imladris, you were quite clear you didn't want to go with Thranduil. His people aren't like the elves you met in Lord Elrond's house."

She squeezed her hands together. Amroth made it sound worse than Celebrían had shared. "Celebrían said they were more..." she fought to remember the word her new friend had used, "passionate."

"Wild might be more appropriate," he said. He'd plucked one of the tiny blue flowers and was spinning the short stem between his thumb and forefinger. "Thranduil and I both lead Silvan elves, but, under my father, our people saw great advancements. Thranduil's father adopted the Silvan ways largely out of spite, from my understanding."

"Thranduil mentioned him last night. It sounded like his people adored him."

"Oh, they do," he started to say before turning to her with knotted brows. "Thranduil spoke to you of Oropher? I think that's likely the first time he's spoken his father's name in a hundred years. Your miracles are endless."

"Technically," she said, squirming and flushed, "he didn't use his father's name. This is the first time I've heard it."

"Hopefully, it's the last you hear of him," he grumbled.

"You don't like him?"

"I consider myself a friend of Thranduil's, despite his grumpy exterior, but his adar is not an elf I would want you to meet."

Berior stomped twice, impatient with waiting, and he flopped at the base of the stairs with his head resting on the first step. She reached down to pet his long face. "We'll go for that ride soon," she said, before turning back to Amroth with a frown. "Why don't you like his adar?"

Amroth's nostrils flared. "He killed my adar."

She froze, her hand still on the elk's nose. Berior's long pink tongue slipped out to lick her wrist. "What happened?" Before she rushed on, "I'm sorry, don't answer that. It was insensitive."

"You need not apologize." His sigh seemed to pull all the air from his body. "It was over a century ago."

Legolas came bounding out the front door and nearly tripped over them in his haste. Amroth caught him as he tumbled, standing and spinning the elfing under his arm while Legolas cheered. Any evidence of Amroth's upset had vanished as if they hadn't been talking at all.

Berior looked at her with wide sad eyes, and she smoothed her fingers across his face. Cold seeped into her chest. Over a hundred years, and both Thranduil and Amroth still visibly grieved for their fathers. What hope did she have? What would her grief look like in a century? Her brain throbbed against her skull. The idea of century after century of sorrow twisted her stomach— one hundred years in a world where her mother never existed. Nobody knew anything about Charlotte from Virginia here. Only what Charlotte told them. Her history was blank to them before she showed up in Imladris; her entire life virtually erased with her mother's.

"Charlotte?" Legolas gently placed her hand on her arm. "Your fëa is flickering again. Are you alright?"

"She'll be fine." Thranduil was pulling his cloak around his shoulders as he stepped out behind her. He pulled the massive doors that lead into Beorn's dining room until they thudded closed and then turned to Amroth. "Beorn has arranged for rooms for the Lord and Lady, as well as yourself should you wish it."

"Excellent," Amroth said. "Celeborn has been anxious about his wife being exposed since the attack. I'll inform them and meet you in the hall after we're settled. Enjoy your ride." He dipped his head to all of them and quietly said to Charlotte, "Consider my offer."

Thranduil was frowning at his friend's back, but asked Charlotte, "Are you sure you still wish to ride? Berior looks tired."

And he did. The elk still rested his jaw on the bottom stair, gazing vacantly at the cask of blue pimpernels. Legolas plopped in front of him and rubbed his hands through Berior's fur.

"He's not sick, is he?"

"I don't think so," Charlotte said, and she looked at Thranduil. Elks were a symbol of the Greenwood, according to the elves. It was the reason they insisted she was destined to help Thranduil's people. Surely the king of the Greenwood would know whether Berior was showing signs of illness.

"Adar?" Legolas had come to the same conclusion and pleaded his Adar with wide, hopeful eyes. "Can you check Berior?"

"Legolas, I'm not—" he froze, rubbed his forehead, and sighed. "I will examine him."

Thranduil made a good showing. He checked Berior's enormous split hooves, ran his hands through the elk's fur, and asked, "Have you eaten anything you shouldn't have?"

Despite the complete ineffectiveness of his exam, Berior perked, and Charlotte swore that, if elks could grin, Berior would be beaming with laughter. His silver eyes danced with amusement, and he pulled his head up.

"You did it, Adar!"

Thranduil masked his surprise quickly and smiled, "Of course, I did." He winked at Charlotte, before asking Berior, "Are you ready then?"

Thranduil helped Legolas mount, and then Charlotte climbed on behind him and secured him with an arm around his stomach. Her fingers tightened around Legolas's stars on the reins as Berior lurched to his hooves. They made an unusual group leaving Beorn's garden, with Charlotte and Legolas atop the massive elk and Thranduil walking beside them.

Thranduil's horse, Belegroch, waited beyond the hedges, held in place by a familiar elf on horseback.

"Allow me to introduce you to Ellavorn," Thranduil said. "He is the Captain of the Guard of _Eryn Galen_."

Charlotte nodded but didn't say anything at first. She recognized this elf from somewhere and hesitated to imply she'd forgotten him, though she had. His bow slung across his back, and a sword hung at his hip. She could just see the top of a dagger peeking out from his boot, and he would've looked menacing if not for the wide easy grin on his face.

"It's an honor to ride with you, my lady," the elf said. His smile grew mischievous. "Meluieth is very fond of you, and threatened to cut off the tips of my ears if anything happens to you, so try not to attract any trouble today, please."

Charlotte laughed. She remembered him now, the elf who had loaded her meager belongings as they prepared to depart Imladris. The one Meluieth had so happily bossed around. "We can't have that," she said. "I'll do my best to prevent random orcs from attempting to eat me for dinner."

Ellavorn darted a glance at his king, but Thranduil ushered the party onward. "We need to get moving if we're going to be back before sunset," he said and nudged Belegroch into a trot.

They spent a few leisurely hours alternating between racing through the fields around Beorn's rustic estate and plodding along the Anduin River. When they were tired of it, the party sprawled in the shade of a cluster of beech and crab apple trees by the river, shielded from the afternoon sun, and ate slices of Beorn's sweet bread and handfuls of nuts that Thranduil had the foresight to bring along for the ride.

Belegroch ended the trip early after discovering the ground was littered with crab apples and attempted to devour as many as possible before being led away. Luckily, Thranduil stopped him before he could eat more than two, but had to keep a firm hold on the reins to prevent Belegroch from wandering back to the green fruit.

"If you eat more than that, you'll feel miserable," Thranduil chastised while his gray-dappled horse gazed longingly at the juicy orbs tempting him from the grass ocean.

"We should be going anyway." Ellavorn was already tidying the last of the food and trying to erase the evidence of their presence. "Sun's getting low. We should get back to Beorn's before dark."

"Why before dark?" Charlotte asked.

"It's safe enough during the day to move about, but the orcs can travel at night." Ellavorn studied the twisting trees on the other side of the Anduin. "Sometimes, they creep along during the day if it's dark enough from a storm or thick tree coverage."

She did not want them to be alone in the fields when the sun vanished. If the others detected the urgency behind her movements, they said nothing, and they were quickly mounted and careening for Beorn's house. The horses, having picked up on her anxiety and pushed by Berior's great strides, made it to Beorn's estate just as the magical hour of soft orange and pink sunlight began. The elves had set up camp between the house and the promise of the Greenwood in the distance, and she could see the first of the fires flickering to life as they approached.

Thranduil dismounted outside the hedges and sent Belegroch with Ellavorn to be cooled down and fed, and then he led Berior with his two charges into the courtyard.

With his Adar's help, Legolas was off and running into the house with a shouted, "I can't wait to tell Amroth! He said elks are slower than horses, but Berior is much faster than Belegroch!"

Charlotte chuckled and turned so she could slide down Berior's side, when Thranduil asked, "May I assist you down?"

She nodded and rotated her left leg over Berior's rump. Warm hands slid over her hips, and Thranduil's fingers tightened gently on her sides as he guided her down until her feet touched the dirt path. She turned in his grip, hands resting against his arms, and craned her head back to meet his silver eyes. His body radiated heat and caused a flush to spread across her cheeks and neck. She leaned into his scent, vanilla and oak and leather. His thumbs grazed her sides, burned through the thick tunic she wore, and his silver hair, burnished gold by the sunset, fell over his shoulders like a curtain, sheltering them from the outside world.

Her heart was pounding against its cage, so hard she swore he had to feel it. What the hell was happening to her?

"You still owe me a question," he whispered.

Her hands tightened on his arms, feeling the muscles bunching beneath his tunic. "You still owe me one," she breathed.

"Mhmm," he pressed closer. Berior shifted behind her. Thranduil's tunic was soft beneath her sliding hands as they rose over his arms until they settled on his chest. His heart beat wildly under her fingers. "And what would my lady ask of me?"

She mentally stumbled. He wanted a question from her? Now? Her mind disconnected from her tongue, and she blurted out, "What happened with you and Nemir?"

It was as effective as dumping ice water over him. His hands dropped, and he stepped back from her. His eyes had fallen shut, and his mouth twisted in pain. "It's a long tale." He sighed, and then his mesmerizing eyes were on her again. "Would you like to walk with me?"

She found herself meandering through Beorn's gardens for the second time that day, with Thranduil at her side and Berior strolling behind them. Thranduil was quiet at first, and she wasn't going to push him to answer a question she was already regretting.

"I think," he said, his eyes on the pink horizon, "that to explain everything, I must first explain how elves mate."

"Amroth explained some of it," Charlotte crossed her arms to ward off the growing chill in the air. "Elves have a hroa and fëa, or a body and a spirit, and elves can bond their fëa together, like Lord Elrond and Celebrían."

"Did he mention that those bonds can never be broken?"

He had not, though, in hindsight, it made sense that it would be impossible to separate two souls once they merged. "So, you are both stuck together forever?" But that couldn't be right. She remembered the argument Thranduil had with Nemir in the stables. Nemir had said she had bonded with someone else. "Can you bond twice?" Charlotte asked.

"You can, under very particular circumstances," he said, "Though they do not matter since Nemir and I never bonded."

"It may surprise you," he continued, "considering we have Legolas. Elves do not have elfings outside of a marriage or bond, not because we lack relations with each other, but because the creation of an elfling requires the will of both parents. It cannot be done accidentally; it requires strength and energy from our fëa. It took much longer to beget Legolas than it would have for a bonded or married couple, and we were relieved when it happened. We didn't hate each other then. We were two elves doing our duty for our kingdom."

Charlotte put the pieces together quickly. What was uncommon in his world was not unusual in hers. "A betrothal. Between Nemir's kingdom and yours?"

He glanced at her, his dark brows raised in surprise. "Yes. My adar and hers, the High King of the Noldor, were in Imladris three years before the war. We called it the War of the Last Alliance. It was named so, because the pact made there, between the two kings, would merge the three elven lines: Sindarin, Silven, and Noldor. Nemir's mother was Silven, her father Noldor, and I offered the Sindarin lineage."

"Is this the decision?" Charlotte asked. "The one you wished your father hadn't made?"

"Yes, and no. Without it, there would be no Legolas, and there is no world I wish to walk in that does not have him in it. My father made a handful of such choices before his death."

He looked so lost to Charlotte. His downcast face was reminiscent of his son's. She tentatively reached a hand out and was relieved when he wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed.

"Gil-galad, the High King, wished for my father to join forces with him to march against Sauron, but we had just received word of my mother's death, and he was already fighting against fading, against the wound in his fëa and the call of the sea. I know he was worried about his people. The Silvan elves are largely deprecated by the Noldor because they are descended from the first elves to abandon the journey to the west. The Sindar made it to the sea and turned back, and the Noldor crossed the sea to Valinor. Such delineations between our groups were often insurmountable, they bred discourse and violence. The history between our groups caused my father to grow more distrustful of the Noldor, and he was convinced that our people would be considered expendable."

Charlotte had not expected a history lesson when she'd asked about his relationship, but she listened patiently, occasionally rubbing her thumb across his hand to let him know she was focused.

"When the time came for negotiations between them, my adar refused to march under Gil-galad's banner. He would command his own army, and Amdír, Amroth's adar, would command the elves of _Lórinand_. Gil-galad accused him of being disloyal to the Valar and the free people of Middle Earth. The screaming went on for well over an hour before my father yelled that he would not march under a Noldor elf who would dismiss his people as lesser beings. He then declared that he would march to our old home, _Amon Lanc,_ in the morning, if Gil-galad did not concede to a plan that would erase the classes between the elves. I was betrothed by contract to Nemir by sunrise, and we exchanged hastily-made rings on the steps of Elrond's house."

"I'm so sorry," she said, though it felt inadequate.

"Elves normally have a betrothal period of a year, but our contract tied us together for a century, with stipulations for two elfings: the first elfing would become the reigning monarch of _Amon Lanc_ and the second would rule the kingdom in Lindon. Legolas is the heir to the throne in _Eryn Galen_, but we never attempted to beget a second elfling."

"She left after we beget Legolas," his voice cracked. "Vanished in the night, and left a letter to share the news. She dismissed me, said my task was complete, and my assistance was no longer required, relegated me to no more than a breeding animal. I followed her anyway, begged her to allow me to be by her side. She continually rebuffed me, and when she was confined to her bed early because of the stress, she would hurl her belongings at me until I was escorted from the room."

"Elflings are a great source of joy for us, and because they require a part of our fëa to create, it is physically and emotionally painful to be parted from them while they are young. And yet, I had no choice. Each day, I felt his fëa grow weaker in her womb, knew the stress I caused by my presence would cost him his life, and my people were leaderless. We had just relocated from _Amon Lanc _to a temporary settlement in _Emyn Duir_. I granted her wish and departed. I have marched to war, led my people home after it, and neither were as hard as leaving Legolas behind."

"Surely, she let you visit, right?"

Thranduil's silence was heavy, and Charlotte felt her own tears welling. They stood in the liminal space between Beorn's gardens and the vast grasslands where the host of elves were camped. She could see them dancing and hear their songs floating across the distance.

"I tried once more after he was born," he said, "and was refused. I wasn't permitted to see him until I threatened to rally my people and wage war to reclaim the heir to my kingdom. I was angry, but I never wanted him separated from his naneth. I knew the pain of being held away from my elfling. Thankfully, she conceded, and he visited for a few months during his tenth year. I saw him again in Lindon for his fifteenth year when my missives went ignored for too long. And now, we are finally reunited for good, and my fëa weeps that I have missed so much."

"I will always be haunted by the possibilities. What if I had stayed through the pregnancy? What if I had insisted he live with me instead? I find now I do not know what to say to him or how to comfort him when he's distressed. I don't know his favorite things, though I am slowly learning. And I want to hate her for it, but I cannot, because how can I hate someone who Legolas loves so dearly? How can I hate her when she is the other half which brought him into existence?"

The sun had vanished, leaving the waning moon to bathe the earth, and Charlotte thought he looked like a fallen star in the darkness. A soft glow illuminated his face as he gazed down at her, and she didn't realize it was coming from her until he cradled both her hands in his.

"Save your compassion for those who deserve it," he said. "My suffering is entirely of my own making."

"I will choose who I care for, thank you," she notched her chin up. "And the fact that you think you're undeserving of it after all you've just shared only proves how worthy of it you are."

Thranduil pulled her closer until she was pressed against him. "I know what he has offered you."

Charlotte scrunched her brows at the topic change. "Who?"

"Amroth wishes for you to join his people in _Lórinand_."

"I've made you a promise, Thranduil, and I won't abandon your people. I don't know what I'm supposed to do or how, but I have to try."

His shoulders sagged in relief, and for the first time since their conversation started, she saw that soft smile she was so fond of. "You had me prepared to beg, and you did not use the opportunity?"

"Perhaps another time," she laughed. "You still have a question."

His eyes studied her, and she squirmed under his gaze. When she could bear it no longer, he finally smirked. "Perhaps another time. Our host is sure to be roaming his gardens soon, and I don't relish the thought of meeting his territorial bear persona."

"Will the elves be safe out there?"

Thranduil turned her toward the house with a gallantly placed hand at her spine. "He won't bother them. They're far enough from the house, and they're neither orc nor dwarf, so he will be disinterested. He was wise enough to roam about them earlier to gather their scent, and Ellavorn was wise enough to set a rotating guard as usual."

With the safety of the others guaranteed, Charlotte allowed him to escort her to the house. Berior was still following behind them, and once inside, he walked straight past an exuberant Legolas, flopped in the corner, and appeared to fall asleep.

"Oh, dear," Charlotte said. "I think we might have exhausted him. Poor Berior."

"He'll be well in the morning," Thranduil reassured her. "Though it's best we all rest before we depart tomorrow."

Legolas immediately followed his adar's bedtime order, and the rest of the adults trickled into their beds afterward. Charlotte lay awake for hours thinking over everything she'd been told, and decided, just as she fell asleep, that she was lucky to have fallen into a world where Thranduil and Legolas existed.

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AN: Thank you for your lovely comments! szynka2496, your threat of violence worked! All the reviews are visible again. Thank you. Culltravel94, I never got to tell you that your comment about Lothuial had me in stitches! Thank you all so much!


	13. Fights and Farewells

Cobwebs strung across her mother's sofa. Their thick strands caged doorways and corners, her mother's beloved books and old vinyl, even the floral carpet. Her mother didn't seem to mind.

"Don't just stand there in the doorway." An alert Dora pulled Charlotte into the cold house. Her vibrant green eyes held a spark Charlotte hadn't seen in years, and there wasn't a single wrinkle or dark circle on her face. "Come in and take a seat. I'll get the sun tea off the porch; it should be done by now."

"That's fine, mama," Charlotte said, but her mother waltzed through a fluttering hole in the webs and was gone. There was a crash, and Charlotte followed her to the kitchen, prepared to clean up whatever had been broken, and distract her mother with a different task.

Her feet stuck in the webs, and she had to yank herself loose with each step. In the kitchen, her mother stood at the sink, her hands buried under a mountain of bubbles. "Mama? I thought you were getting the tea?"

Dora turned, and Charlotte screamed.

"Goodness, dear. You're going to give me a heart attack like that."

Charlotte took a step back. The webs sealed behind her. Her mother held out a dark grey, mottled hand, dripping with soap, and her broad smile displayed rows of sharp, narrow teeth. Charlotte could feel herself shaking. As she watched, the grey spread across her mother's face, her eyes dulled, huge lumps formed beneath her skin. An orc stood in her place, her mother's voice still ringing from its lips.

"Could you wash the last one? I'm waiting for a call from Abby; she's coming for dinner."

Somehow Charlotte ended up at the sink, with her hands searching the basin until they found the dish her mother spoke of. Her hands swayed through the bubbles, stirring the hot water, growing increasingly frustrated at its emptiness, when they finally closed around a familiar handle. She pulled the jagged black dagger from the depths, stood frozen with it clasped between her quaking hands.

The tip had a single dark blob on it, and as she watched, it grew and expanded until it was bubbling and cascading down the blade and over her fingers like lava. Her arms were soon covered in the tar-like blood, and she thrust her hands and the knife into the soap bubbles to hide them. A dark stain appeared in the middle of the pristine suds, spreading until she had her hands submerged in a basin of viscous orc blood. It gurgled and splattered when she pulled the plug.

"Look who's here!" Her orc mother said.

Thranduil stood in the doorway, dressed in his elaborate robes and his high branching crown. "You should've gone with Amroth," he said.

It was dark, and she couldn't see anything. She huffed as something huge knocked her on her back, and then she was scrambling. Pushing, kicking, screaming. So much weight. She would be crushed! Her lungs were aching. Her arms searched desperately. White spots danced in her eyes.

Her eyes flew open and saw Thranduil resting in the second bed, his silver eyes open and vacant. Berior was curled and asleep on her other side. She clutched a hand to her racing heart, trying to slow her breathing, uncertain if she was still dreaming. Thranduil shifted and stirred, and she panicked and fled the room.

She couldn't deal with conversation right now. The moon was still out, but she took her chances and darted into the garden where the air seemed lighter. The chill seeped into her skin. The first thing she'd do when she got to _Emyn Duir_ was purchase a thick cloak like Thranduil's. Once she figured out how to pay for things. It would be a cold winter if she didn't come up with something fast.

It wasn't that she didn't have useful skills. She could learn languages quickly, translate texts, mix delicious drinks that would put a grown man on his ass… None of those would be useful. She could teach, but there weren't schools in Middle Earth. "I'm screwed." She doubted there was pay for possible-but-unlikely "chosen ones."

The stars glittered at her, nearly undisturbed since the moon hung low over the forest. She looked over the sprawling camp of elves. Glowing embers showed where the fires once burned, and if she squinted, she could see the ghostly shapes of the night watch on their rounds. Would Ellavorn be patrolling down there? Monitoring for the orcs who could creep upon them under the night's shield?

There was a heavy growl, and a bear, twice the size of the ones she'd seen at home, with scraggly black fur and dark brown eyes, ambled around the rose bushes. Beorn seemed wholly wild at the moment, and Charlotte tried to hold her breath and prayed he wouldn't notice her. He did.

His fist-sized snout twitched as he caught her scent, and he took great lumbering strides until he was directly in front of her. She was an idiot. He'd warned her not to go outside. Told her on her first night that doing so was a death sentence, and she went strolling because of a nightmare.

The bear sniffed at her, stirring her curls, and she squeezed her eyes shut. His breath was surprisingly minty. It blew across her face, and she cracked one eye open to a close-up view of strands of saliva stretched between sharp teeth. He was grinning at her.

"You're a jerk," she said, just as he dropped to his haunches, his stupid pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. "I thought you were going to eat me."

The bear made a huffing sound like laughter.

"You and Berior would get along splendidly. I feel like he's always laughing at me." She glared at him. "His seems a bit more loving than yours, though."

The bear sneezed and shook out his fur.

"Do you always roam alone at night?'

He nodded.

"Any orcs?'

This time a shake.

Charlotte heaved a sigh. "Would you mind some company? I doubt I could sleep now if I tried."

Beorn shifted closer in answer until she could lean sideways into the warmth of his thick fur, and the bear and the elleth silently watched the sun chase the moon away.

Amroth found her in the morning, dogpiled with Beorn as a bear and Berior, who had come searching for his rider when he woke in the night to find her bed empty.

The _Lórinand_ Elvenking greeted her with laughter. "I cannot believe you're cuddling a bear."

Beorn grumbled and peeled back his lips to display his teeth. She groaned and stretched her aching neck. At some point in the night, she'd flopped her head onto Berior's side, and Beorn curled up against her to keep her warm like a living bear rug.

"We're not cuddling," she said, mostly to pacify the massive bear. "You obviously can't snuggle a lethal wild bear."

Beorn jerked his fluffy head in a nod.

"And yet, here you are—"

"Amroth," she warned. She turned to Beorn, "You can eat him. I don't mind. Just wake me when the mess is cleaned up, yeah?"

Amroth laughed uproariously. He was clearly one of those frustrating morning people. Charlotte felt a shimmer in the air, almost like a change in pressure, and Beorn, the man, stood before her.

"Can't eat the elf," he grumbled. Ah, good, a grumpy morning person like her. That she could deal with. "He'd give me indigestion for weeks."

"Try some milk," Charlotte suggested, "in the long run, it'll make things worse, but short-term it'd cover you so you can eat him and I can sleep."

"No more sleep for you this morning," Amroth chuckled and held out a hand out for her to grab. She did so begrudgingly. "Thranduil is already beside himself, thinking the savior of the realm fled. You might want to go find him before he scares poor Legolas."

That was the last thing she needed. Legolas was already upset about the last time she'd gone missing.

Thranduil was pacing the hall when she entered, his long traveling cloak whipped around his heels as he pivoted to stalk the room. When he noticed her, he stilled, his face carefully controlled. "Where were you?"

She did not like that tone. "Out." She said.

"Where?" He was dressed in his robes, his eyes like ice as he studied her dusty leggings and tunic, her wild hair.

Charlotte spread her heels apart and crossed her arms. He would not be talking to her like that. "Wherever I wanted to be. Amroth said you were looking for me?"

His eyes narrowed. She counted her heartbeats in the silence. He waved a hand at her, a clear dismissal. "It's no matter. You've been found. You might let your king know before you wander off into danger again. Return to Amroth, then; we depart in an hour, and Meluieth has seen to your belongings."

He made her sound like some recalcitrant toddler! She bared her teeth, "You are _not_ my king." The nerve of him.

Her heart stuttered when his face crumbled. It lasted a single second, so brief she would've missed it if she hadn't have been watching closely, and she realized what she said and who else had said those words to him.

"Thranduil, I didn't—"

"I am not interested in your apologies," he folded his arms over his broad chest. "You have made a vow to aid my people. Will you uphold it?"

She felt her temper rising again. She'd slept terribly, her neck hurt, and now he was questioning her honor? Was that all this was? Sprinkle some kindness and share his tragic backstory to convince her to travel to his wild kingdom and save his people from some unnamed villain?

"How dare you? You know I've promised to attempt to help your people."

"I don't presume to understand the loyalty of _mortals_."

She stepped back as if slapped. "You know nothing of the bonds between mortals."

Storming from the room, she planned to hunt down Amroth, who was far less arrogant, when Thranduil silkily said, "Be ready in an hour to depart if you plan to keep your word."

"Stick your departure up your ass!"

Amroth was still in the garden when she stomped out of the house. He took one look at her thunderous expression and said, "I know just what you need."

He led her to the camp, Berior diligently trailing behind them, and took her straight to Ellavorn.

"Are you still prepared to do what we discussed?" Amroth asked the captain.

"I haven't had a moment to clear it through the king yet." He shifted his weight. "I can go ask him now though?"

Amroth glanced at the still fuming Charlotte before shaking his head. "I don't think you'll find him very hospitable right now."

Ellavorn studied her and sighed at whatever he saw. "I'll be cleaning the stables for a month if he doesn't like this."

"What exactly are we doing?" Charlotte asked. She was careful not to take her mood out on them, but she was beginning to hate being talked about while she was present.

Amroth grinned and dipped his hand into his boot, withdrawing a small dagger. He handed it to her, hilt first, and stepped back with a cocky grin.

"Stab me."

"Tempting," Charlotte said. She tested the weight of the blade. It was more substantial than she expected. "But I probably shouldn't murder the king in front of his people."

"They'd be fine under Celeborn. Now quit stalling." He paused, a smirk forming, "You do know which end to use, right?"

"They'd probably arrange a statue in my honor."

Ellavorn chuckled, "Definitely would earn you a feast."

"A single one?" Charlotte scoffed. "A full week of celebrations, or it's no deal. Wait, what am I saying? I'll do it for free."

"Alas, the Elvenking of _Lórinand _has been slain—nay, scorched by the _Annuiel_. My heart will weep for eternity."

"How old are you?"

He scratched his chin thoughtfully, though the twinkle in his eye gave him away. "3,687."

"You certainly don't act like it," she teased.

"Ah, well, I am young yet. Thranduil is another century older, after all."

And that sank her mood rather quickly. "Alright, show me how to stab you with this thing."

"First of all," he shifted forward and tightened her hand around the gold hilt, "if you don't actually grip it, you'll drop it."

"Which way do I hold it?"

Ellavorn stepped in and pulled a dagger from his boot, holding its tip up in his fist before flipping it to point toward the ground. "Either way," he said. "You need to train with both grips. If you drop it, and you will, you may not pick it up in the grip you're used to."

Charlotte started with the dagger pointed up. "Okay, now what?"

Ellavorn and Amroth took turns guiding her, moving her arms until they were sore from slashing and thrusting the blade. They worked in tandem, one dodging her fledgling efforts, the other correcting her stance and technique.

"Aim for his knife hand," Ellavorn said. "You're smaller; you need to even your chances of survival. Get the blade from his hand, and you'll be the only one with a knife. It won't guarantee your safety, but it'll give you a better chance."

At some point, Amroth had grabbed a short stick for a practice blade of his own. He was moving exceptionally slow to give her time to spot opportunities.

She brought the blade down on his wrist.

He flicked away at the last second. "Excellent. Now faster."

"Won't I cut you?"

Both ellons laughed, which irked her. She moved faster, knowing that she wouldn't touch him, but also wanting to prove that she could be quick.

A crowd formed around them, and at one point, she grinned when she heard a tiny voice yelling, "You can do it, Charlotte!"

It distracted her, and Amroth flipped her on her back. She scooped up the dagger, the tip pointed downward.

"If you end up on the ground under them, aim up," Amroth said. He pointed an index finger to a spot just on the inside of his thigh. "Stab here. It'll disable them, and you might be able to regain your feet or even run."

"Act quickly," he added, before diving down and trapping her with his body. His hands grabbed her wrists and pulled them above her head. "If you get here, your chances diminish."

But Charlotte couldn't hear him anymore. Her blood was throbbing. His weight pressed against her. Her lungs heaved, and she couldn't breathe. Blood poured from his neck as he talked, dripping onto her tunic. She would drown in it.

"So, move your arms like this…"

The words came at her from underwater, tumbling out between his long pointed teeth. She couldn't breathe.

Suddenly, the weight was gone, and she was staring up at Thranduil, feeling the burn of air in her lungs. It was so painfully similar. She was gasping.

"Mount up," he ordered the watching elves. "We leave in ten minutes."

The crowd dispersed, save for Amroth and Ellavorn. Thranduil gently pulled her to her feet, grasped her chin until her panicked eyes locked on his. "You're safe. He's dead. We're at Beorn's." His low voice hummed over her frazzled nerves.

She couldn't stand it. Couldn't bear feeling so weak. Especially in front of him. Not after earlier.

She tore herself free. Turned to Amroth to give him the dagger.

"Keep it," he said. His eyes were wide with concern. "I'll send the sheath over with Meluieth. She'll show you how to hide it in your boot, so you're never without a weapon again."

Her throat tightened. "Thank you." Her hand shook around the hilt as she rushed away. It was a miracle she didn't drop it in the grass. Thranduil's gaze burned between her shoulder blades.

She found Meluieth and Berior quickly, and after tucking the dagger safely inside her pack, she pulled herself onto the elk and stared resolutely ahead, wringing the reins and Legolas's stars. Meluieth didn't attempt conversation, and Lothuial and Eithoril had sandwiched themselves around Legolas further ahead.

There was a tap on her leg, and then Beorn was standing beside her. He was tall enough that they met nearly eye-to-eye with her on Berior's back.

"Noticed you didn't get a chance to eat breakfast." He passed her a small sack and rubbed his beard. "If you get sick of them, it wouldn't be so terrible having some company here."

She smiled, though it was still shaky. It was the most backward compliment she could've received from the reclusive skin-changer. Thranduil rode past her without a glance, his back rigid, and she fought to keep her gaze on Beorn.

"I might just take you up on that," she said. She had enjoyed her limited time with Beorn. He was a quiet, respectful companion, and she didn't mind his outward grumpiness. "Write to me?" she grinned, remembering Celebrían extracting the same promise.

"Hmph, like I would know all your ornamental letters." Something in his expression told her that he did, in fact, know how to write in Elvish.

"Well, I don't know them either. So write to me Common Tongue—" he grunted, and she added, "very well, send me drawings then."

He quirked his lips in amusement. "I'll consider it. I don't know if I have the ink."

She rolled her eyes but gave him a soft smile. "Thank you for everything."

He nodded once, glanced at the elk before he said, "Watch this one."

"Berior?"

"I am able to speak the languages of almost all animals," he said. There was no pride in his voice; to him, it was an irrefutable fact. "Your elk doesn't know his own language or won't speak it. I suspect the former. I've mentioned things in front of him, things that should've gotten a response and didn't."

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," his grin looked feral. Amroth and Thranduil were leading the party north, and the lines of horses ambled forward. Beorn lightly tapped Berior's flank. "Stay safe. Remember what I said."

Charlotte was swept up in the tide of elves, and she glanced over her shoulder to wave goodbye, but Beorn was gone. When she'd opened the sack, she found two loaves of his sweet bread, some nuts, small wedges of cheese, and a single apple. She shared them with Meluieth and gave Berior the apple during the first rest.

Over the next four days, they traveled from dawn until just after sunset. Scouts rode ahead and behind to watch for any further orc parties, but the elves passed safely through the fields between the Anduin and the Greenwood, and Charlotte thought they owed a large part of their safety to the enormous black bear that shadowed them.

She avoided Thranduil, and their interactions reduced to cursory greetings whenever they were brought together by their mutual connection to Legolas, who came to frolic with Berior and her in the evenings. During the day, the Elvenking spent much of the ride chatting with Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, occasionally even talking with Lothuial, who stayed glued to Legolas's side.

By the end of the first day, Amroth dropped back to ride with her, and he continued helping her with Sindarin. She was still avoiding Lady Galadriel and considered herself lucky that she'd escaped really speaking with the elleth for most of the trip. She did not need anyone rifling through her already scattered thoughts.

"Your Sindarin is coming along well," Amroth said by the third day of their journey. "When you get to _Emyn Duir_, you'll need to find an instructor for _Tengwar_. They are the letters to write with."

"Maybe Meluieth would be willing to teach me," she shook her head even as she said it. "I'll find someone. Maybe she'll have a suggestion. I know she's learning to be a healer, so I doubt she'll have time to babysit me through _Tengwar_."

"Thranduil would be willing to find you an instructor," Amroth shrugged.

Charlotte didn't bother mentioning that she hadn't spoken to Thranduil since they fought at Beorn's. Angry or not, she wasn't going to badmouth him to Amroth. She'd keep her opinions about his haughty Royal Highness to herself.

"It's not too late, you know."

She raised a brow at him.

"I can see you've given it a great amount of thought," he chuckled, though there was a self-deprecating edge. She realized he was referring to his offer to join his people in _Lórinand_.

"I think we both know that I'm already locked in this path," she said. "I've made a promise to at least _try_ to help."

"Just," he hesitated, eying the elves around him, "be careful. Something is creeping into this forest from the south. _Someone_. Things are changing again. I haven't seen that many orcs banded together in over a century. Something is happening in Middle Earth, and we're blind to it. Stay close to Ellavorn, if you're able."

Charlotte merely nodded, wondering for the thousandth time what she had gotten herself into. She reminded herself that she only had to do her best to help Thranduil's people, and then she could focus on tracking down a pathway home.

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AN: Thank you all for your wonderful comments! It's been an absolutely joy reading your thoughts and responses and I'm thrilled that you're enjoying Charlotte's story. I hope you like this newest chapter. I really hesitated on showing signs of PTSD with her, but Charlotte hasn't seen any live violence in her life, let alone been a victim/active participant of violence, and she's already holding back on a mountain of grief. Things are starting to become emotionally overwhelming for her.

Szynka2496: I have searched valiantly for a "face claim" for Charlotte and found a "close but not quite" example. I will attempt to put a link on my profile, since FFnet doesn't allow links in stories. If I had a shred of visual artistic ability I would draw her for you, but alas, I can only paint with words. I could be persuaded to attempt a nice stick figure drawing? ;)


	14. The Forest Gate

The Forest Gate consisted of two towering trees bent at the waist until their branches twined together over a broad dirt track. The traveling party arrived around noon on the fourth day, and the kings decided it would be best to part ways immediately so the _Lórinand _elves could race to the safety of their home.

Which meant Charlotte had to say farewell to another new friend, and she began to wonder when she'd see Amroth again.

"Our kingdoms unite over the years, whether it's one or one hundred," Amroth said when she asked. He spotted her look of horror and chuckled. "One hundred years goes quickly. You'll see."

"Not that quickly." She bit her lip and pulled her arms around her body. The weather was turning colder, and most of the trees in the Greenwood were bare. "Be safe on your journey."

"What?" He laughed. "You will not beg me to write to you as you've done with Beorn?"

"Would you write, if I asked?"

He nodded solemnly. "A letter every day, if my lady wished it."

"I'd hardly be able to reply fast enough." She smiled, but it was short-lived. She would miss his carefree banter and easy manners.

Amroth opened his arms in invitation, and she surged forward. "Be safe," he echoed. His words stirred her loose hair. "Keep your eyes open and watch. I shouldn't say anything, I've promised, but don't let your guard down. Those orcs—" He cut himself off.

"Send a message when you're home," she said.

"I swear it. _Nínion ned i vened wîn_."

"Wait, I know this." She narrowed her eyes as she thought. "_Nínion ned i vened lîn. Galo Anor erin râd lîn._"

He beamed. "_Mae garnen, Annuiel."_

She knew "well done," since he had been coaching her in Sindarin for days, and he was fond of positive reinforcement, but he'd yet to tell her what _Annuiel _meant.

"It means 'Western Star,'" he said when she asked. "It's an epessë. The elves have been using it in reference to you. I think I first heard it on the night of the wedding feast."

"I don't think I get the reference."

"Your fëa is like starlight, bright and clear, and we believe you've been sent by the Valar who reside in the west. We don't know which Valar sent you or why They didn't speak with you beforehand as They did Glorfindel. It could be that They have always sent emissaries in such a way, and Glorfindel was the exception. We don't know."

"Will everybody call me that?" She didn't like the idea of losing her birth name, even if the epessë was beautiful. She already felt like Charlotte of Virginia was fading away to Charlotte the elf in Middle Earth, and her heart clenched when she realized she'd already been an elf for over two weeks. That was an entire paycheck gone if she still had a job waiting for her at all. It wasn't like she could tell her bosses that she'd been gallivanting around Middle Earth for half the month. Spotless employee records would not save her from being a "no show, no call" for two weeks. She'd have such a mess to get out of when she arrived home.

Amroth rested a thick hand on her arm. "You don't have to give up who you are to belong here. An epessë is an honorific gifted to an elf. Some adopt the name as their own, and some don't; you're always going to be Charlotte, no matter what else they call you."

Her smile was wobbly. "I might read those letters every day after all."

"My invitation will remain," he said, "if ever you decide to take it."

Shortly after, she watched the party of _Lórinand _elves vanish into the horizon and tried to bury the festering ache in her heart. Everything kept slipping through her fingers. Her mother. Her home. And now she'd been forced to say goodbye to one potential friend after another. Celebrían. Beorn. Amroth. She still saw Meluieth and Legolas, but for how long? Legolas was a prince. Meluieth was training to become a healer and still working as a lady's maid. She'd been assigned to Charlotte because she was the only available maid in Thranduil's retinue in Imladris. Forming bonds in Middle Earth seemed as impossible as her old life. Just as she was getting to know someone, they'd part ways, and distance and danger prevented easy visiting.

The _Eryn Galen_ elves mounted for the ride through the forest, and Charlotte felt a chill steal through her as Berior took his first step under the Forest Gate. Meluieth had been riding with a friend, so Charlotte found herself alone for the first time in days, and she honestly welcomed it. It was peaceful to close her eyes, trust Berior completely, and feel the slight breeze across her skin, smell the damp earth and the crisp autumn air. Her mind felt numb, her body achingly tired, and she was past the point where she thought she could handle anything else.

Thousands of leaves scattered throughout the wood seemed to clap in the wind. The sound surged in her ears, and the melodic voices of the elves faded into the background, merged with the hum of the trees, and she was swept up in a tune only she could hear. Is this what it felt like to be an elf? She swore she could feel a beech tree swaying a mile away, hear a pair of squirrels scampering through the underbrush. It was the first beautiful dream she'd had in a week. Berior misstepped, and she tightened her legs, losing her focus. He straightened quickly, but she couldn't calm herself enough to find the odd ethereal place she'd been in.

And that's when an ellon dropped from the trees.

"Hail, Elvenking Thranduil," he said with a short bow. His long dark hair was braided back at each side of his high cheekbones, and she could see the tip of his bow arching over his shoulder. "Welcome home, Your Majesty."

"How fares the Elf Path, Súldil?"

"Clear to the next checkpoint, sir," Súldil said. "It would be an honor to escort you until you make camp. There is much to tell you."

Súldil was given one of the pack horses to ride since the food supplies it carried had all been consumed. Charlotte kept her eyes on the branches above, trying to spot the other elves she assumed were there, but whenever she caught a flash of movement, by the time she turned her head, the branches were empty.

Whatever Súldil had to share, he kept to himself, clearly unwilling to discuss matters of state with so many present. Charlotte detected the truth in his stance and the echo of Amroth's warning. Súldil lacked the relaxed riding style she'd seen in the elves during their travels. He was rigid, his free hand occasionally twitched as if reaching for his bow, and his eyes roved the forest.

Charlotte pressed her right foot against Berior, both to close the gap between her and Legolas's guards and to remind herself of Amroth's dagger in the outside edge of her boot. Ellavorn rode at the front with Thranduil and Súldil.

The Greenwood's trees towered over her, and the sun spattered through the naked boughs until the forest floor was speckled as if underwater. The horses kicked up the leaves, rustled, and crushed them. Reds, golds, and browns, a blanket for the earth before winter fell, all of them embraced over the roots of the trees. It smelled like the proud Elvenking, finally returned home.

The wind skittered through her hair, and she pulled her tunic tighter, slipping the long sleeves over her cold fingers. It was the same overly large shirt Meluieth had dressed her in after the attack. It was by far her favorite article of clothing in Middle Earth and the softest, though the neckline had a habit of drifting until it exposed part of her shoulder. For most of the morning, she'd been alternating between tugging it into place or holding the vee together at the center of her chest even though it wasn't truly considered "revealing" by _her_ society's standards. She'd noticed that even the most daring of elven gowns in Imladris still kept the shoulders covered, and she wasn't sure if that was because they had yet to create a strapless dress or because they considered shoulders to be more private areas.

She could picture herself wearing it at home in her old life, curled in her bed with a thick book and a hot coffee cup. And her phone. Heat. Running bathwater. A bath would've felt divine. She might have allowed herself to be wasteful, and slowly drain the water when it grew cold so she could refill it again and soak in the warmth for hours.

Thinking about her unreachable modern conveniences had her wondering: had anyone noticed she was absent besides her bosses? Was she another vague face on an evening news report? Her mother's house would go to her sister if Charlotte wasn't alive, but Charlotte had never written a will and had no idea what would become of her own things. Not that there were many relatives to fight over her belongings, and not many belongings to fight over. Her studio apartment had a floor mattress and a dresser with a bottom drawer that didn't close all the way that she bought from a yard sale near her mother's house. The mattress had been a rare new purchase.

It had worked for her though. She didn't need a fully furnished apartment; she was always at the university, the bar, the library, or her mother's house. Sometimes she stayed the weekend with her mother and slept in Abby's old room. Her old bedroom had been cleaned out and repainted for Betsy.

Would her future accommodations in the Greenwood be even worse than her barren apartment? She fingered the tunic's soft fabric and wondered if it had been commandeered from a _Lórinand _or _Eryn Galen _elf.

The only two homes she had seen in Middle Earth were Lord Elrond's and Beorn's. One was a sprawling lush mansion. The other was beautifully rustic and constructed of thick wooden beams and tree trunks. Bears were carved into nearly every surface of Beorn's house: the beams across the ceiling, the doors, the chair backs, the headboards. The furniture was sized to match the great height of its owner. When she sat at the table for breakfast, it looked like Beorn was having a child's tea party with three little dolls. It was definitely a modest home, but it did not lack artistry or grandeur.

She didn't know what to expect from the Greenwood elves. Thranduil had only said that they lived in a place dubiously called the "Dark Mountains." And Meluieth had labeled it a temporary home, whatever that meant. She'd find out in a matter of days. In the final stretch of their journey, they were expected to reach _Emyn Duir _within a week, barring any further complications, and the silence of the forest, interrupted only by the sporadic trills from the birds overhead, hinted that they wouldn't face delays.

When the sun dipped below the trees, Thranduil called for them to set up camp in a glade in sight of the path. His tent was erected first and was likely large enough to fit thirty elves standing in its depths. Charlotte was removing Berior's bridle, dreaming of collapsing into sleep, when she felt the pressure of his eyes. Thranduil stood in the entrance to his tent, Ellavorn and Súldil behind him.

"Sir?" Súldil asked, confused as to why they had stopped.

"Charlotte should join us," Thranduil said, his eyes on hers. "Much of what I must impart pertains to her, and it would be unwise to disclude her."

Ellavorn looked oddly relieved, and Charlotte wondered if he too had been forced to make the same vague promise as Amroth. Thranduil waited until she approached the tent, and then waved her in first. Súldil glanced at Ellavorn with a raised brow.

The inside of the tent was as spacious as she'd imagined. Vines carved their way up the center support pole, and ceramic votives clung to the wood. Their flames cast a dreamy warmth in the otherwise spartan space. A suit of armor was proudly displayed in the corner, perfectly polished, untouched, and Charlotte's eyes danced over the narrow bed. She was surprised at its simplicity, given Thranduil's predisposition for extravagant robes; it held only a handful of throw pillows and a single thin bedsheet. She was exhausted enough after days of little sleep that it looked supremely tempting, and she idly wondered how angry he would be if she curled up to take a nap on it.

Not that it would matter; each night, she woke panting from a nightmare. All of them held the same theme; sometimes, her mother was the orc, and other times she became the monster. Always, she woke after suffocating under the crushing darkness. Dark bags bloomed beneath her eyes, and she was fortunate that Berior wasn't the type to wander.

The elves filed in behind her, and Súldil spared her a final questioning glance before Thranduil prompted him to impart his information.

"Two weeks ago, three elves vanished along the southern border. Their absence went unnoticed until their relief reported in the morning and couldn't find them. Lord Cúthon has ordered a temporary doubling of the guard at the border and issued an additional search party. There has been no trace of the missing elves."

"Does the search party continue?" Thranduil was pacing before the rolled entrance of the tent. "Which areas have been searched?"

Súldil frowned, his brow wrinkled, and he quietly said, "Lord Cúthon canceled the search last week, Your Majesty. With so many away, guards were summoned from the other borders to search the south."

"Why did he only command the south to be searched?"

"Sir—" Súldil glanced again at Charlotte.

Thranduil descended on him. "I have asked a question, Marchwarden."

"Apologies, sir." He flushed and cleared his throat. "I only meant to avoid offending the lady. We haven't found clues for the missing elves, but there have been animals. Deceased animals, wholly intact and frozen, paralyzed; their expressions twisted in fear."

Charlotte felt her eyes blow wide. Dead animals were one thing, but leaving the bodies untouched? Why?

Thranduil said as much. "If they were hunted for food, they wouldn't remain intact unless the predator found a better meal or sought them only for sport." He shot a brief glance at Charlotte. "Double all of the patrols. Let nothing move in the Greenwood without my knowledge. Are Maethor and Haedirn still on the northern border?"

"Haedirn was one of the elves on the southern border, sir."

Thranduil's face briefly fell. "Summon Maethor, he'll be on guard detail for a visiting dignitary from the west."

"Are we expecting guests from Imladris, sir?"

"In the spring," Thranduil turned, his long robes trailed behind him. "I speak of the far west beyond the sea. Maethor will guard Charlotte."

Súldil clearly had many questions, but he held his tongue. "Yes, sir."

Thranduil waved his hand in the same manner he'd used on her. How many days since they last truly spoke? Five? Six? Had a week slipped by so quickly in anger? She frowned. She would've been offended at having an assigned babysitter, if not for the bruises beneath her eyes, the nightly reminders of the punishment for being untrained and unprotected in this world.

She eyed the bed again, let her gaze dart longingly to the open tent entrance. If they were finished, maybe she could find Berior and her bedroll and sleep.

"You're dismissed," Thranduil said, and her body sagged in relief. Her feet shuffled toward the moonlight. "Stay, Charlotte."

She froze. Blinked once at him.

"Please," he added.

Her bed never seemed further away. She turned to him, arms crossed loosely. Her jaw cracked on a yawn.

"You're not sleeping," he said. His mask slipped. His dark brows creased with worry, and he took a hesitant step toward her.

"I sleep."

"Hmm," he said. His mouth opened. Closed.

"Did you want to see me for a reason?" She prompted.

"It can wait." His voice was soft. "Have you eaten?"

She shook her head.

"You could join me if you like?"

"Maybe another time."

His eyes shuttered, his face swept clean of emotion. "Very well."

Charlotte stumbled out of the tent, found Berior, and unloaded her bedroll. She'd just finished spreading it out when she flopped on top and succumbed to sleep.

Hours later, she woke in the dark, shivering from both the cold and her mind. Berior was gone, and the majority of the elves were resting peacefully. She was still unnerved by their open-eyed vacant expressions. She rolled over, tried to adjust her limbs, to find a shred of comfort, before she huffed and gave up.

Wandering the woods seemed a terrible idea, especially after the earlier warnings. Still, she itched beneath her skin; she couldn't just lay there. Luckily, she spotted Ellavorn patrolling the circumference. As he passed near her resting spot, she sat up and quietly called out, "May I walk with you?"

"I'd be pleased for the company," he said, with a slight smile and a wave for her to join him. As they walked, he said, "I find it terribly difficult to stay awake during these traveling night watches. If we're fortunate, they're horribly boring."

"If I could, I would offer to take your place," she said.

Ellavorn glanced down at her, studying her face. "As elves, we do not require much rest. I will endure. You could do me a great service, however."

"Oh?" She stumbled blearily over a loose rock and straightened.

"It would be a wonderful help if you assisted in keeping me awake," he said solemnly. "I understand Amroth was teaching you Sindarin. Would you like to practice?"

Sindarin would take everything her sleepy mind had to offer. She eagerly accepted. For the next few hours, Ellavorn slowly chatted with her in Sindarin, quieting only as they skirted the king's tent, for which she was grateful. She did not want to wake Thranduil or Legolas. Though both for entirely different reasons.

She was feeling reasonably confident in her Sindarin. After a full week of intensive lessons with Thranduil, Amroth, and now Ellavorn, she could easily hold a basic conversation. The hours whiled away quickly, and she was enjoying herself until Ellavorn's relief appeared.

"Anything of note?" Thranduil's smooth voice rolled over her spine. He'd abandoned his swirling robes in favor of simple leggings and a tunic, nearly the same outfit he'd worn the night of the attack.

She shivered and glared at the moon. There were still hours left before the sun would allow them to continue their journey, and she knew, despite her heavy eyelids, there would be no further sleep for her.

"Charlotte?" His voice was so soft. She blinked at him.

"Where'd Ellavorn go?"

Concern bloomed in his eyes. He took a hesitant step toward her as if he were approaching a skittish mare. "He left," he said, "to rest before morning. I would be greatly pleased if you would join me on my watch until you feel ready to sleep."

She studied his open expression, the soft smile she had started to look forward to before everything fell apart. Her arms wrapped around her, and she nodded. Speaking took energy she didn't have.

Thranduil held an arm out, like a gallant knight. She ignored it. Left him standing in her shadow.

"I'm sorry," he said to her back, and she grew still.

She was tempted to flee for her bed, uncertain if she could add this confrontation to the pressure building in her skull. Her arms dropped to hang loosely. God, she was so tired. She was an elf now; should she say, "Valar, I'm so tired?" She debated asking Thranduil but dismissed it.

A warm hand wrapped around her own, gently tugging her until she turned to face him. "I apologize for my deplorable behavior," he whispered. "I was curt and rude. It was unbecoming of a king, and I regret that I have caused you suffering."

"Why?"

He didn't ask her to elaborate. He sighed, dropped his chin toward his chest. She was mesmerized by the thick dark lashes that brushed his cheeks. "I'm unaccustomed to sharing so much of myself." His deep voice thrummed through her.

Her eyelids drooped. He was opening up to her again, but his voice, so calming and gentle, was lulling her to sleep.

"I'm unaccustomed," he squeezed her hand, "to the genuine interest and compassion you gift freely to others. There were things I told you that I've never spoken of. When I woke in the morning, you were gone; Berior was gone."

"I went for a walk," she said. "Sleep is… difficult lately."

"I know." His free hand rose as if to cup her cheek. Dropped. "I know. Each day I see you diminish. I fear I will fail my people before I can even get you safely to _Emyn Duir_."

And there it was. The confirmation of her innermost fear. His interest was for a savior to his kingdom, not her, not Charlotte. She'd allowed herself to become attracted to the first person to pay a smidgen of attention.

"I should try to rest." She pulled away, avoiding his gaze. Her bed sounded wonderful. She could hide there until morning with her eyes closed, pretending to sleep.

She vaguely heard Thranduil call out to her, a soft whisper that curled into her newly-pointed ears, but she ignored it, balled herself on her bedroll to shiver, and waited for the inevitable nightmares. He didn't attempt to approach her again, and she tried not to count his rotations around the camp as she waited for sleep to trap her.

She woke suddenly in the morning, the only way she woke lately, curled under a thick cloak that smelled suspiciously of vanilla and leather.

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Translations:

_Nínion ned i vened wîn_.— I will weep during our departure.

_Nínion ned i vened lîn. Galo Anor erin râd lîn._— I cry on your going. May the sun shine upon your path.

_Mae garnen_— Well done.

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AN: Thank you all for the reviews/favorites/follows! It's been wonderful hearing your thoughts and having you on this journey. I hope you like this newest chapter.


	15. The Forest Song

Berior was committing elk mutiny. In the two days since her moonlit meeting with Thranduil, she'd avoided conversation and rode alone behind Legolas, Lothuial, and Eithoril. By the third day, Berior had decided he'd had quite enough of her self-imposed confinement. When the elves mounted their horses, the furry traitor positioned himself at the front of the party beside Thranduil's stallion Belegroch, and Charlotte briefly considered riding one of the unburdened pack horses instead.

"Let's move further back," she told the elk.

Berior shook his great head, antlers swinging over Belegroch's ears and causing the horse to shy away. Charlotte grabbed the reins, intending to pull the wayward elk to their normal position in the retinue when Ellavorn appeared at her shoulder.

"I was hoping you'd join us this morning," he said with a broad grin, "We could continue working on your Sindarin while you ride."

She couldn't reject such a generous offer without explaining that she'd rather ride alone than beside the Elvenking, so she settled for glaring briefly at Berior, who looked decidedly smug. "That would be lovely," she told Ellavorn.

Legolas sealed the deal. When he spotted her, he rushed to wrap himself around her waist. "You're riding with us today?"

She couldn't help but smile when faced with his bright voice. "I'm woefully behind in my 'How to not be a silly elf' lessons," she said. "Ellavorn was just offering to help me with my Sindarin."

"I can help!"

Charlotte and Ellavorn shared a look over Legolas's blond head before the ellon solemnly nodded. "I would be grateful, young prince. It is the most tragic case. I fear it would take me centuries by myself to properly educate her."

Legolas laughed, "Ellavorn, I think you've caught some of Charlotte's silliness."

"Oh, dear, is it contagious?" Charlotte grinned wickedly. She prowled toward him, and Legolas's smile blew wide. He started to back away. "Wouldn't that be just awful if you caught it?" And then she was tearing after him while he ran and giggled, dodging around the amused elves.

"A prince is not a silly elf!" Legolas shouted. His long hair fluttered behind him, and, just as she was about to seize him, he scurried up a beech tree, swinging from branch to branch until he stood high above her.

"Legolas, honey," she called. She wrung her hands. "Please, come down, I don't want to see you fall."

She frowned when Legolas giggled, "Elves don't fall from trees." He ran the length of the branch and leaped to the adjacent oak. Her heart lodged in her throat, watching his tiny body soaring over the open air, and then it plummeted to her toes as his feet safely landed.

Ellavorn was laughing at her shoulder. "I sometimes forget that there really is so much you do not know about elves."

"Thanks." Her smile was wry. "Now, how do we get the young prince down before his adar finds him?"

"_That_," he grinned, "is simple." He pitched his voice, comically louder. "Charlotte, I heard Lady Celebrían sent oatcakes along. I was just thinking of grabbing one from the packs for the ride. Would you be interested?"

"That sounds delightful." Her volume matched his. It was difficult to contain her smirk as she watched Legolas scamper down the tree.

"Can I have one?" He asked once he'd reached them. "Please?"

Which is how she ended up riding beside Thranduil, with a gleeful Legolas nibbling on an oatcake on his horse behind her.

The ride was silent for the first mile, and she let her mind soak in the pink rays of the sun filtering through the branches, the occasional birdsong, and the swaying movement of Berior beneath her. She peeked at Thranduil, dressed elegantly in his dark split-tunic and leggings. He'd forgone his branching crown for a circlet, and his cloak was notably absent.

She cleared her throat softly, "Thank you."

Her only response was a raised brow before he went back to studying the track.

"For the cloak," she clarified. "I have it in my bag, and I can return it to you at the next rest."

"How do you know it's mine?" He still wasn't looking at her, but she swore his cheeks had picked up the pink flush of the morning sun.

Charlotte hesitated; she couldn't admit that it smelled like him. Wouldn't acknowledge that somewhere during the past weeks, maybe even from the very first night she'd met him, she'd been foolish enough to develop a… whatever it was she was feeling for him.

She wasn't some ingénue, she chastised herself. She'd flirted and dated before, briefly. Done the agonizing relationship rollercoaster that inevitably ended up with her feeling nauseated and dizzy at the end. But this was different somehow.

The silence stretched on before she finally settled on saying, "It was just a guess."

He nodded, and she watched the corners of his mouth twitch. "You'll have to hold onto it, then, until it's owner decides to claim it."

"I suppose I will."

Thranduil was silent again, though his eyes danced through the trees, searching.

The rolling movements of the elk lulled her. She'd slept so little in the past week, and it showed. Berior was a brilliant steed, but even he wouldn't be able to keep her on his back should she fall asleep and slide off him. Still, she let her aching eyes close, let her head tip back to soak in the sunlight, and her mind drifted, wandering into that ethereal place where the song of the forest swept her along from tree to tree, feeling the flutter of a bird taking flight, almost as if its feathers brushed against her skin, hearing the muted thumps of something moving through the underbrush. It sounded like two great hands tapping their fingers on the forest floor, and when her mind brushed against it, she shivered and grew cold.

She straightened, fighting to stay relaxed and stay in that place. Thranduil must have picked up on her anxiety because he asked, "What is it?"

"I don't know," she said. "I keep drifting out. I don't know how to hang on to it."

Berior came to a sudden stop as Thranduil seized her reins. "Hang on to what?"

The line of elves stilled behind them, and Charlotte felt silly. "Nothing. I'm just tired and imagining things."

"Tell me," he insisted. It was clear the command came not from Thranduil, but the Elvenking.

"I thought—" She huffed before blurting it out, "It just felt like I was a part of the forest for a moment. I could hear everything, see everything. And there was something huge moving, something dark."

Lothuial laughed, and though it sounded friendly, Charlotte knew better. "Only the Elvenking can move and hear the forest in such a way. You look dreadful. The strain of the journey is playing with your mind. Besides, the forest is guarded by our own; they would not allow such a creature to come into our borders. It's impossible."

Charlotte glanced at Thranduil, knowing that something or someone had encroached in the Greenwood already. His eyes closed, and he seemed to both settle into his body and drift into the forest. Charlotte found herself counting the ticks of her heart until she could see his silver eyes once more.

His brows twisted in confusion, before he said, "Whatever it was, it has passed, and I cannot sense it. Let us move on; I want to be on the other side of the river before we rest the horses for a day."

She tried to mask the heat that rose up her neck at Lothuial's smirk. "Of course, my king," the elleth said.

Berior refused to budge from his position at Thranduil's side, and though Lothuial was comparatively silent about her critiques while so close to the Elvenking, Charlotte felt every second with the other elleth grating on her nerves. After that moment, Lothuial never stopped talking.

"I love the forest at the end of autumn," Lothuial said. "There's no more beautiful kingdom in all of Middle Earth, wouldn't you agree, my king? Why even King Amroth would have to concede so."

"Indeed, the Greenwood is my favorite of the forests, though I am biased," Thranduil said. "I doubt Amroth would agree as readily as you suggest."

"He would have to at least admit that we are the most cultured," she continued. "The Greenwood elves have maintained their traditions for thousands of years."

"Is it truly possible to be 'the most cultured?'" Charlotte rubbed the stars on her reins to help keep her voice steady. "There is no quantitative value to culture; it can't be measured. I'm sure Amroth's people have their own traditions as well, though they may differ from yours."

"We are protective people and wary of outsiders, so it may be difficult for one to gain a full understanding of our kingdom," Lothuial said. "But here in the Greenwood, we lead a more natural life with a strong connection to the forest. Where others have forgotten their roots, we have preserved our history."

"Imladris seemed steeped in history," Charlotte said. "Amroth told me that Lord Elrond established it in the Second Age."

"You know our history?" Thranduil raised a brow in surprise.

"Some of it," Charlotte said, meeting his silver gaze. "I'm looking forward to learning more."

"Well then," Lothuial said, pulling Thranduil's attention away. "You should know that our beautiful _Amon Lanc_ predates _Imladris_ by nearly a thousand years."

Lothuial was relentless in her praise of the Greenwood, and Charlotte couldn't have been more grateful when they finally stopped for the night. She moved her bedroll as far away from Lothuial as possible, which regrettably meant she was further from the fire. She eyed her pack. Knowingly using his cloak seemed too personal, but the temperatures were dropping further each night. She shook her head; he'd all but said it was hers to use, and her favorite tunic was thicker than the others she'd worn, but not thick enough for the night chill. When she caved and wrapped it around her shoulders, she wondered why she even fought it. The warmth and heaviness of the cloak felt like a hug. When was the last time she had one of those? She shut that thought down quickly.

"It suits you," Thranduil said.

She wondered when she'd come to so easily recognize his voice. "I will miss it," she said, turning to smile at him, "when its owner comes to finally claim it."

"He would be a fool to do so."

"So the owner is a 'he' then?"

Thranduil smirked. "Just a guess." His eyes searched the tree line as if waiting for something. She heard a soft trill, and Thranduil smiled and held out his hand to her. "Ellavorn has ensured the area is safe. I wondered if I might have the pleasure of your company this evening?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Stargazing," he said, though his lips hinted at a joke she didn't understand. His hand still floated in the space between them, a clear sign that it would be her choice if she took it. Biting her lip, she eyed her bedroll where nightmares and fear waited, and then slid her hand into his.

The smile he gave her made her chest warm, and she grinned as he led her away from the clearing of elves and into the forest. She looped the extra length of his cloak over her arm, so it didn't drag, and let Thranduil pull her into the darkness. The waning moon cast little light over the forest, the trees twisted overhead, and she shivered despite the cloak.

"Where are we going?"

"Just a little farther," he coaxed.

They glided through the underbrush, over fallen branches, and through bushes, until the campfires were nothing more than fireflies glittering through the trees. Thranduil led her into a small glade, nearly perfectly round, and Charlotte laughed.

"You've brought me to a fairy ring."

"What," Thranduil grinned, "is a fairy ring?"

"Perfect circles found in nature, made from trees or mushrooms and the like, where unsuspecting maidens are swept up in the music of fairies or elves and forced to dance until they go insane or die."

"Ah," he nodded wisely, though she could see the quirk of his lips as he tried not to laugh. "I promise no dancing tonight."

"Right, stargazing." She gazed up at the thousands of sparkling lights, so many more than what she was used to seeing.

"I had different stars in mind." His voice caused her stomach to tighten, and then he seemed to catch on to what he had said and cleared his throat. "Earlier, when you were connected to the forest, I got the impression that you've never seen your own light. I'd hoped, with your permission, to teach you?"

"I would like to see it," she said softly. "I keep hearing that it's different, but you're right, I didn't know I could even see my own light."

"With enough training, you can see any elf's light, and I have a feeling that you have a greater sensitivity to the forest as well. Lothuial is correct in that I am the only elf in the Greenwood capable of traveling through the forest's song; Legolas may be able to do it as he reaches maturity as it is a part of our bloodline."

"So then why can I do it?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he said. He squeezed her hand softly. "It may have something to do with the difference in your light, or the Valar have arranged it since your task is here, or maybe it's more simple than that, and your compassion makes you sensitive enough to hear the song. Regardless of the reason, it would be a great benefit to you to understand how to travel the song, and, since I am the only elf capable of it, it falls on me to teach you."

More kingly obligation then. She plastered on a smile. "Where do I start?"

"May I?"

She nodded, and he turned her to face away from him, tucked her into his body, and gently clasped both of her hands. Her heart raced as the heat of him infiltrated her back.

"Close your eyes," He whispered. The words stirred her curls, and she fought a shiver. "Relax your muscles. Feel yourself sinking deep into your body."

Her body felt like a live wire. She tried to relax, but his firm body behind hers, the strength of his hands as he cradled her fingers, the soft whisper of his voice dancing along her spine… she was in sensory overload.

"You're tensing," he said, unhelpfully, and she nearly snorted. Of course, she was tense. "Match my breaths. Start at your toes and work your way up. Loosen everything, and then imagine yourself sinking deep beneath your skin."

Charlotte took a deep breath. Every elf could easily find their own fëa, even the elflings. She needed to master this. In and out. A few breaths equalized her. She felt what he meant; she was drifting, as if falling asleep, fading beneath her bones and organs until she reached an intangible place that seemed to call out to her.

It was dark in this underneath space, and then, softly, a flicker, and another, until the darkness was swept away by glittering blue-white light. On the surface, she felt a single tear work its way down her cheek. Inside, she stepped into the light, her light, and felt enveloped by it. It was all the hugs she'd ever received, and the warmth of every person she'd ever loved and been loved by. It held her hope and heartbreaks and the secrets she refused to admit to herself. It was home, and it was her. All of her. The pieces she tried to hide were so readily displayed there, so perfectly woven into her being, and for a moment, she thought, "This is what it is to know and love myself."

Thranduil's voice was distant and rough behind her. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I've never seen anything like it," She whispered. Her grip started to fade from it as her attention focused on him. "I'm losing it. I can't hold it," she worried.

"You cannot lose it." His hands squeezed hers again. "It is you. You can dim the light from other's eyes, but never from your own."

"How do I dim it?"

He laughed, "I see your light now, the brightest it has ever been, and I know that you have been dimming it for weeks."

She released her grip on it, felt it swell and surge within her, and turned to grin proudly at Thranduil. His eyes were wide, and his soft lips open as he took in her light, and then she felt a shift in the air, and suddenly he was glowing, warm and bright and as golden as the sun. She deliriously imagined they appeared like night and day in the glade. Like a page torn from her mother's books of fairytales: a towering Elvenking and his maiden.

His hands wound around her back, pulled her closer until his forehead dropped against hers, and his silver eyes vanished beneath pale lids. "Now, do the opposite: immerse yourself in your fëa, welcome all of it, and then stretch outwards, feel it expand your awareness into the trees."

This was much harder. She hadn't slept well in so long, and though finding her fëa had been as simple as relaxing and falling into herself, moving outside of her body felt like pushing against a boulder.

"I can't seem to get it," she whispered.

He hesitated for a moment, before he breathed, "It is highly personal, but, if you allow me, I can show you how."

Her brief nod was all it took before he was pulling her tight to his chest, and she felt the rise and swell of his fëa, like a wave cresting and breaking over her. His sun enveloped her starlight, silver and gold shimmering in the night, and then she heard him whispering softly in Sindarin, so quietly she couldn't make out the words, and the song of the forest swelled in her ears. He pushed them outwards, leaving their bodies in the glade, and he flew her across the Greenwood, over the reaching mountains, down the cool rivers, inside the rabbit burrows, and through pools of crystal clear water; all while the oaks and the beeches and the pines sang her the story of thousands of years of life.

How had she missed this her entire life? "It's exhilarating," she breathed, and Thranduil tightened his arms around her. Even dancing through the forest, she could smell the vanilla and leather he seemed to carry with him. She leaned into him, let his fëa fly hers through his world. She was so caught up in the sensations, in him, that she nearly missed it.

"Wait," she called. "There. Feel it?" And suddenly she was tugging them along, chasing after the cold and darkness she'd felt. It moved quickly, bursting through the underbrush and fleeing south. Trapped within its void was a single glowing gold light. "Thranduil!" she cried.

"Follow it."

And she did, chasing after the elusive darkness until it grew dim, stretched beyond her reach. "I've lost it. It's gone."

She opened her eyes, her lungs heaving, and found herself tucked beneath his chin. She leaned back. His eyes were narrowed, his mind working over the problem. "It had someone," she said. "Did you see it?"

"We need to get back to camp." He released a high-pitch trill like a bird and waited.

A few moments later, an elf dropped from the trees. He was dressed similarly to Súldil, with matching green leggings and a tunic, a bow strung over his back, and a dagger at each hip bone.

"Celegon," Thranduil greeted. "Alert the wardens; find Súldil and Ellavorn. I want Ellavorn on guard duty for Legolas and Charlotte. The rest travel south immediately. An elf has been taken. Be on your guard; this creature is large and its spirit dark. It's gone beyond the Forest Road."

Thranduil escorted her back through the forest, racing her along until she was sure she would trip in the dark, but her feet never failed her. Ellavorn was alert and waiting at the edge of the camp, clutching Thranduil's curved sword and an arched bow worthy of Odysseus. Thranduil took them both, turned to her and said, "Stay with Ellavorn and Legolas."

"Where are you going?"

"A king does not ask his people to fight what he will not," he said.

And then he was gone, flipping into the branches like Legolas had done so many hours before. She followed the flash of his silver hair as it vanished south into the trees.

"Be safe," she whispered.

Ellavorn nudged her with an elbow. "Let's move to the king's tent. Legolas is sleeping there, and I thought it best to keep it that way so he wouldn't worry."

She nodded numbly, letting him lead her away, while she worried for the elves chasing after the chill she felt racing through their forest.

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AN: This story has made it past 60,000 words so far! After being away from writing for so long, that feels like an amazing milestone. A huge "Thank You" to all of you for your comments/follows/favorites and support!

szynka2496: You are correct! Meluieth says in chapter 8 that they would reach _Emyn Duir_ "within the month." She's the kind of person who rounds time frames up/is a little vague. It takes three weeks to get between the two elven settlements. So when Charlotte mentions being an elf for "over two weeks" in chapter 14, she's been in Middle Earth for 16 days and traveling for 14. Hope that helps! :)


	16. Shadow Hunt

Thranduil had yet to return. Charlotte paced the length of his tent all night, waiting for him to sweep in as if he'd never left. Legolas slept on unknowingly, and Charlotte hoped his adar would return before he woke. Thranduil had told her before that he didn't like being separated from his elfling, so when morning broke, and there was still no sign of him or the contingent of elves he'd taken with him, Charlotte panicked.

She'd tried many times during the night to slip into the forest song, but she could never push past her own fëa as she'd done with Thranduil. By the time Legolas woke, she had worked herself into a storm and had to mask it so Legolas wouldn't worry too.

"Charlotte?" He rubbed his eyes and stretched. "Where is Adar?"

Ellavorn thankfully stepped in, "Your adar had to search the forest. He'll return to us when he is able."

The elfling frowned, his brows knotted in the same way his adar's did, and he reached to pat her arm. "It will be alright," he told her. "Adar is the greatest swordsman in all of Arda. Nothing can hurt him."

"Legolas," she asked, "are _you _alright?"

The elfling froze, and suddenly he was avoiding her eyes. "I'm fine." He smiled at her. His dimples were absent. "I can help you with your Sindarin to distract you?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" She pressed.

"I know what we can do! I can translate your name."

Charlotte frowned but let it drop. "What does your name mean?"

Now his dimples popped proudly into place. "I have two names. Every elfling gets a name from his Adar and Naneth. Naneth named me Legolas; it means 'green leaf.' Adar named me Thranduilion, which is 'son of Thranduil.' Which means I'm the son of a 'vigorous spring.' What about yours?"

Charlotte had to think about it. She vaguely remembered looking it up for a school assignment once. In all reality, her mother had just thought the name was pretty, and she'd never used her middle name, though her father had apparently searched for weeks for the perfect name and didn't decide until after she'd been born.

"Definitely Eileen," he'd said to her mother. "Our bright light." Other than that one story her mother had shared, Charlotte only ever heard it when she was in trouble, to the point where it didn't even feel like hers.

"Charlotte means 'free,' I think," she finally said to Legolas.

"In Sindarin, the word for 'free' is 'rain," Legolas scrunched his brow in thought. "Your Naneth would probably have named you 'Renieth.' It means 'free one.' What about your adar name?"

She told him about her middle name, and he nodded, his tiny face serious. "That sounds like another naneth name," he said. "Normally adar names are made from your naneth or adar's name. Like mine is made from my adar's."

"I don't think I know my adar well enough to have an adar name," Charlotte said.

"Did you live without your adar too?"

Charlotte saw the hopeful look in his eyes, and remembered Thranduil telling her that growing up without Legolas had been painful; it was evident that Legolas had felt that same pain. "I did," Charlotte said. "My adar died when I was a baby. He was very sick and couldn't stay."

Legolas studied his feet. "Did you miss him?"

"My naneth didn't talk about him much, and then she got sick." Charlotte felt her throat tighten. "I don't think I ever stopped to ask her about him. It was always just the three of us, and I didn't question it until it was too late."

"Naneth says you don't need an adar to be a loved elf."

"That's true," she nodded. "But you have an adar who loves you. A lot."

Legolas was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't speak again, and then he whispered, "Do you really think so?"

Her heart broke for him. She glanced quickly at Ellavorn, whose face held a matching expression of sorrow. "Of course!" She said. "It would be impossible not to love you."

"Is Adar in danger?"

Charlotte's mouth dropped. Telling him the truth would terrify him, but she didn't want to lie to him either. Especially when she was worried about Thranduil too. She was silent for too long, and Legolas's face fell.

"I thought so." He picked at his tunic, before looking up at her through his lashes. "When will he be back?"

She reached over to smooth his hair and gazed out the open tent flap. "I don't know, little leaf. Hopefully, soon."

But the morning wore on with no sign of him, and Charlotte started feeling itchy. She was pacing around the support beam of Thranduil's tent, rolling her shoulders against the crawling sensation up her spine when she finally turned to Ellavorn and asked, "How many guards stayed behind last night?"

Ellavorn hesitated. "Only five," he said. "Six, including myself. The horses and packs were left with us, too, as the king expected to return by sunrise."

"We need to move. The closer we get to _Emyn Duir_, the better. Thranduil will be able to find us if we move, right? Because as of right now, we're here with a quarter of our guards, like sitting ducks. You know how easily three vanished. Will six guards be enough? With four elleth and an elfing to guard? Not to mention," she quickly added the numbers, "over twenty horses to keep safe, not including our own."

"The king left no orders to move," Ellavorn said, but she could tell he was considering it.

"Did he leave orders to stay?"

"That he did not," Ellavorn grinned. "I agree with your assessment. I'll order the camp to be packed. The king wished to be on the other side of the river before we rested anyway. The horses can be led, and most are trained to return home if they're separated."

Charlotte thought of the massive void of darkness she had found as she flew through the forest song with Thranduil. If the monster stole away the three elves on the southern border and managed to snag another one despite the increased patrol, they were not safe until they reached the mountains. "See if you can divide the remaining supplies among the free horses; we'll need to travel fast, and prepare the elves to travel part of the night. If this creature slips past the border patrols somehow, we at least need a more defensible position. We're too open here."

Ellavorn bowed, his mouth a firm line. "As you command, _Annuiel._"

She froze. Had she just given orders? And Ellavorn followed them? She wasn't sure she liked that power, and Lothuial definitely didn't. The blond elleth stormed into the tent, not five minutes later, with an apologetic Ellavorn behind her.

"Where is Thranduil?" Lothuial demanded, and then softening when she saw Legolas, she bowed and said, "Good morning, Prince Legolas."

"Good morning, Lady Lothuial," he said. "My adar, _Elvenking_ Thranduil, is patrolling the forest, but I can help you."

Lothuial chuckled, the sound condescending. "That is sweet of you, Prince, but I needed to speak with your adar."

"As Legolas has already shared," Charlotte said, crossing her arms, "Thranduil is not presently available."

"Well then, _who_ issued the order for us to travel through the forest with reduced guards?"

"I did."

The elleth smirked, "You have no authority to issue such an order. With the king absent, and the prince under the age of maturity, _I_ am the highest-ranked elf present. _I_ will give the orders until the king returns, and we will stay here under guard."

"If we stay here, we'll be easily overtaken," Charlotte argued. She knew little enough about warfare, but she at least understood that there were too few of them to guard such a large area and their resources.

"You have no say here," Lothuial sniffed. "I am the daughter of the king's advisor and supersede a common stray elleth. In fact, you have no place here. Not among my people and not in the king's tent."

"Charlotte is not a 'common elleth,'" Legolas argued. His cheeks grew pink, and Charlotte had never seen him so angry. He was the spitting image of his adar at that moment. "You speak to _Annuiel_, the Western Star, sent by the Valar themselves, and she has been invited to the Greenwood by the Elvenking. She is both a welcomed dignitary and a representative of the Valar, and as such, she outranks you."

"My adar—"

"Your _adar_ holds rank as my adar's advisor," Legolas said firmly. Suddenly a prince stood where an elfling had been only moments before. "_You_ hold no position within my adar's counsel."

"The prince is correct," Ellavorn said, and Charlotte could tell that he was barely holding back his glee at the fuming Lothuial.

"I will not obey an outsider's commands," Lothuial hissed. "You have no power over me, and I will not be rushed into danger by your hand."

Charlotte stood tall, taking strength from little Legolas's defense of her. "Stay if you wish, but you will stand alone. I will not sacrifice these people to your pride and foolishness. We leave in ten minutes. Make your choice, and hope you can live with it."

Lothuial snarled and spun on her heel. "Enjoy your time here, _Rhudoleth_. Once we reach _Emyn Duir_, Adar will see you so diminished, you will be fortunate if the mortals will take you in."

Charlotte glared at the elleth's retreating back, long after she was out of sight, until she heard Ellavorn burst into laughter, and Legolas giggled.

"Thranduil will be displeased," Ellavorn said, and Charlotte began to worry. She'd definitely burned an already shaky bridge with Lothuial.

"Will it create problems for him?" She twisted her hands nervously.

"Oh certainly," Ellavorn chuckled, "but that's not what I referred to. He'll be upset he missed you putting her in her place. He's been waiting for you to do it for days."

"Wait, he knew?"

"Thranduil is aware of everything that happens amongst his people. But he's especially aware of what happens to you." He winked at Legolas. "Plus, there was a very grumpy elfling as we traversed the High Pass, who was most displeased about the 'rudeness of some elleth' toward his new friend."

Charlotte kneeled before Legolas and gently grasped his hands, "Thank you, my fearless defender. I am honored to be considered your friend."

"Adar is your friend too," he said and then whispered, "I see him watch you all the time. He won't let them send you away, and if he does, I'll go with you."

She smoothed his hair, "I doubt that will be a problem. Let's get moving."

Lothuial did her best to delay them, but the elves, likely hearing the argument and its outcome with their sensitive ears, adhered to Charlotte's orders, and the packs were evenly distributed among the more temperate horses.

Charlotte and Berior stood proudly at the front with Belegroch riderless at their side. Behind her were Ellavorn and Legolas, and visibly reluctant Lothuial and Eithoril were mixed in the middle of the horses. Meluieth had volunteered to guide some of the rear horses, and the other five guards were scattered throughout.

Charlotte patted Berior and said a quick prayer to whoever was listening, before surging the party onward as fast as they dared.

There was no ability for conversation as they thundered down the elf path, and Charlotte wasn't able to focus long enough to access her fëa, let alone feel the forest. Ellavorn had told her that most of the guards had been pulled from the eastern and western borders to move south, meaning most of the road's checkpoints were unmanned. They were flying blind, racing against an unknown adversary while protecting the horses from exhaustion.

At the first rest, Charlotte checked the sun peeking high overhead and anxiously asked Ellavorn, "How far to the river?"

"At this pace, I believe we will reach the Tithenduin by nightfall."

"We'll need to find somewhere to rest for the night. Any suggestions?"

He shook his head. "Nothing that comes to mind. The river has high banks, and the trees sit close together on each side. Once we're over it, there are boulders and rock formations. We might be able to hide among them."

They plowed on, stopping only to rest the horses for short breaks, and by nightfall, they all felt grumpy and anxious. Every crack and hoot caused her to tense. The trees reached out with gnarled hands as if to seize her. Legolas had pulled his horse closer, and Ellavorn held his sword loosely in hand.

When they reached the bridge, the moon sat high overhead and illuminated the clear water flowing south toward the mountains. The bridge was only wide enough for a single horse, so Charlotte and Berior led the way across, his hooves clacking on the stone. The carvings in walls on each side reminded her of Imladris. Intricate curves and knots pervaded the design, but there was a sharpness to it where the carvings tapered.

Legolas came across after her, followed by Ellavorn and the first round of riderless horses. Charlotte felt herself itching to move again, anxious from sitting in the open space between the trees. As Lothuial crossed, there was a great crack! And Charlotte's heart froze as a branch on the other side snapped and hurtled toward the elves. An enormous black spider emerged from the depths, two man-sizes pincers clicking under bulbous eyes the size of dinner plates.

The horses panicked, all fleeing for the narrow bridge. In horror, she watched the spider slam a stinger, twice the size of her body, into one of the mares. It tumbled, face frozen in a permanent scream. She turned to Ellavorn and shouted, "Get Legolas away from here!"

He hesitated for only a moment before leaping to the back of Legolas's horse and fleeing. She could hear the elfling screaming for her as they flew south. Lothuial and Eithoril cleared the bridge and thundered after them, but Meluieth was trapped behind the raging horses on the other side. The five guards had flung themselves into the trees, leaping from branch to branch, trying to get at the spider while avoiding the stinger and pincers. It was oddly uninterested in them and tried to work its way around to cross the river.

She was the only one on the other bank. A memory surfaced through the fog of her mind, fuzzy around the edges, but the words were clear. The orc who'd taken her, dragged her from Thranduil toward the Anduin, said there was a reward. Could these creatures come from the same master?

One of the guards tried to slip around the spider's blind spot. The creature spun, stinger poised, and slammed the point into his body. The elf toppled through the branches until he thudded on the ground and lay still. The gap widened, the spider lurched, one long hairy leg stretched across the river, and she knew.

"Okay, Charlotte," her body was shaking. Adrenaline coursed through her. "You can do this. Focus." She settled herself, felt her muscles relax, the quaking intensified. Berior was shifting beneath her. She tried to sink, to drop into the underneath space that felt like home. The sounds of the battle filled her ears: grunts, and screams, and the whoosh of air as blades swung for the escaping spider. Her body tensed. She wouldn't be able to do it, wouldn't be able to get to that place without Thranduil's help.

A second elf fell, his body pierced by the stinger. The spider cleared the final three elves, barreling over the river toward her. If she stayed, they would all be claimed by it.

"Be brave, Berior," she said, clenching her reins over Legolas's wobbly stars, "and fly."

Together they soared through the forest, the elk melding seamlessly with the trees, dodging and weaving the trunks and boulders that burst from the terrain like jagged teeth waiting to snap closed. Crunching and thundering behind, the spider hurled its body through the treetops after them.

"That's it, big guy." She leaned forward, eyes centered between Berior's broad antlers. The elk's ears flattened, and he dove to the right, barreling between two huge boulders covered in ivy just as the spider tumbled over the spot where they'd been.

"Berior? What are you doing?" He'd led them into a dead-end, where rocky ledges created a funnel ending in a high walled bowl. The elk lurched to a stop, dropping his haunches until she fell off his bare back, and then he was running, throwing his body onto a ledge high above and scaling the wall, leaving her alone in the bowl.

The spider squeezed through the gap, its body molding to the contours of the rocks as it tunneled, legs extending outward and pulling it through. Layers of rocks stacked horizontally and stretched like bands around the bowl. Charlotte tried to scramble up the walls. Tried to reach the ledge. She placed her foot, shoved herself up, grabbed the protruding rock overhead, and pulled. The rock let loose. She tried again. Made it three feet up before she was sliding, scraping her hands and face. There was no other way out.

A clicking sound caused her to whirl, and she backed against the wall as the spider crawled toward her. It's long hairy legs scuttled, it's pincers snapped, and she saw the thick stinger descending. The spider's pupils dilated. There was a loud _clack_!

Berior stood backward, high above, at the lip of the bowl. His hind legs reared up, bending, and slammed at the boulders arching over the edge. Tiny pebbles raced down the side with each kick. He turned, scraping and digging at the dirt around the stone with his hooves and antlers. He'd never get it down in time, and the spider was advancing past him.

Those eyes glittered at her, and her own widened. "Sink. Relax," she breathed. The spider scuttled closer, confident that it had cornered its prize. She fought to ease her muscles, to let herself descend. Her shoulders tightened, she peeked her eyes open, saw the flash of the dangling stinger.

She couldn't do it without Thranduil. She hadn't practiced enough yet.

Thranduil. She felt the memory of him fill her mind. The soft smile she'd grow to admire. His strength, the small displays of sarcasm and humor, the fierce loyalty to his people. The memory of the golden glow of his fëa illuminated her thoughts. And then she remembered how it wrapped around hers, and the warmth and feeling of home that she found in her own shining fëa. His words echoed in her mind. _"Loosen everything, and then imagine yourself sinking deep beneath your skin."_

She could do this. She sank slowly into her light, feeling the brightness of it overwhelm her. She grasped her fëa tightly, pulled her light to the surface, and opened her eyes. Her glow illuminated the bowl, bursting from beneath her skin, as brilliant as a star.

The spider's eyes constricted. It stumbled blindly, tumbling backward until it struck the wall, legs flailing and curling. The screeching pounded in her ears. She heard the loudest crack yet, and the boulder gave way, hurtling down the wall until it landed with a wet crunch on the agitated spider. The legs spasmed underneath before they seized and curled. Dead.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and she sank, panting. "If one more thing," she muttered, tilting her head back and letting her eyes close, "tries to kill me…"

Berior was suddenly in front of her, his wide eyes taking in the scratches on her cheeks and forehead. His cold nose pressed against her hairline.

"I'm alright," she said. "Thanks to you again. Are you okay?"

The elk nodded, stomping his legs until she stood. Her light still glowed beneath her skin, though it had dimmed, and she could easily see the spider carcass across the bowl. "Let's get out of here," she said and threw herself onto Berior's back. She kept her eyes on the body until it was out of sight.

When they made it back to the bridge, the elves and horses were gone. Berior was exhausted, and the adrenaline was fading from her body. "We need to settle somewhere for the night," she told him. She was dreading camping overnight with no supplies. She didn't even have the small pack she carried; it had fallen off during the rush through the forest.

Berior turned south, following the river, and she was content to let him lead them toward the mountains until he veered off course again. "_Emyn Duir_ is that way," she said, pointing along the river.

The elk ignored her and continued moving east through the woods until they reached another rock face. Vines and lichen mixed with tree roots, reinforcing the steep layers of stone. He trotted straight for the rocks. They were going to smack headfirst into the side. She threw her arms over her head, ducked against his neck, and felt the vines slither over her.

"What?" Charlotte looked up. The glow from her fëa filled a small cavern about the size of her apartment, with a ceiling only a foot or two above Berior's antlers, and blessedly empty. "I don't want to know how you found this," she said as she slid off his back. "Sleep. Must sleep. Tomorrow or today— I don't even know what time it is— we'll try to find the others after we rest. There was only one spider, and they headed south toward the mountains. They have to be safe."

Berior seemed to agree; he settled with his back to the wall, and she snuggled against him as she had so long ago in the stables of Imladris. They were instantly asleep.

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Translations:

Rhudoleth— Unwelcome One (feminine)

Tithenduin— Little River. (This is **not** canon. I created the name for the Enchanted River since this is 2,832 years before the events of _The Hobbit_.) Since its parent river is simply called the Forest River, it made sense to keep this river's name equally basic. I haven't found a Sindarin equivalent of Forest River, so the best guess would be either: Torduin (Taur + duin) or Erynduin (Eryn + Duin). Both meaning "Forest River" and both aesthetically displeasing.

AN: So **this** is actually the chapter that puts this story above 60k words. I forgot to take into account the few author's notes/translations in the previous chapters, but this chapter was already written then so I guess it still stands. :) Regardless: yay! Hope you enjoy this new chapter. Thank you for the comments/follows/favorites. I love hearing your thoughts!


	17. Reunited

Charlotte snuggled into the sweet smell. A thick warmth enveloped her, and she rubbed her face against her furry pillow, pulling the blanket higher around her shoulder until she felt adequately wrapped.

And then her eyes flew open.

Thranduil was smirking, seated cross-legged against the cave wall. "You endlessly surprise me," he said. "I expected to find you gravely injured after we saw the light bursting through the trees, and then I found the spider carcass, and you were missing. The guards were positive you were gone from this world, and yet here you are with no visible wounds aside from a few scratches."

She sat up, letting the borrowed cloak slide into her lap. Berior shifted behind her, stood, stretched his legs, and left her alone with Thranduil.

"Your elk has been twitching for an hour," Thranduil said. "I told him I'd watch you, but he insisted on staying and acting as your bed."

"Are the others okay?"

He smiled, and his eyes were as soft as his voice, "Somehow, I knew that would be your first question. Two of the guards are currently recovering at camp. Legolas and Ellavorn are well, as are all the elleth. The horses have been rounded up and returned. We were unable to save one mare." His frown twisted her heart. "She was trampled during the chaos."

"Oh, thank god, they're all okay," she breathed. She felt a pang at the thought of the poor horse who didn't make it. "What about your search party? Did they find the creature?"

"We did not, at first."

Charlotte felt her hopes sink. If they didn't find the other void, that meant the glowing fëa she'd seen was forfeit.

Thranduil ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He looked surprisingly alert, though his clothes were rumpled and dirty. "It was a trap, and I am a fool for falling into it," he said. "The creature sensed us. It must have. It carried the elf south, knowing we would follow, and then circled back for you. When we reached the elf, we were surprised to find him still alive. The paralysis was fading when I finally pieced it together and tore through the forest to get to you. I likely only caught up to it because the elves were still patrolling and moving south. It had to find a way past them to get to you."

"Did the elf survive?"

"He did, thanks to you. It has made him more than eager to meet you and assume his duties." He saw her tilt her head, and he added, "Haedirn. He was the elf we rescued, and he will be joining Maethor as your second guard. I knew him to be a loyal soldier and a fierce swordsman, but this experience proves it. His capture only occurred through the defense of the others, I would find no greater soldier, besides Ellavorn, to join your guard."

"I'm not sure how I feel about having two guards trailing me everywhere."

Thranduil shifted until he sat next to her, stretching his long legs. "I was going to tell you days ago. I should have." He sighed. "I'll add it to my list of errors. You looked so tired, and I knew the experience you suffered still haunted you, but it is no good excuse for keeping it secret."

Charlotte felt her heart beat faster. "What?"

"After the orc ambush, Ellavorn managed to capture one for questioning," he said, glossing over hours of torture the captain had meated out. "You are being hunted. When you appeared on the plains beyond Imladris, you apparently sent out a wave of your light, your power must've surged when you entered our world, and the orcs were camped in the forest and felt it."

"So it is the same orcs I escaped from. Shouldn't we be too far for me to be worth following at this point? It's been weeks of travel."

"I'm afraid not. The orc mentioned a superior: a creature called Urukbúrz. Whether he's orc or goblin or man, he's issued an order for your capture. The orc died before he would confess more, and what we attained was mostly cursing and warnings."

Her blood felt sluggish. How many more times would she be forced to kill to prevent her own death? She was no trained soldier; she was lucky to have survived two encounters. Staying in Middle Earth was going to lead to her buried six feet under, and she should've insisted on searching for a way home.

But that would've left the elves without help. She wasn't sure how she felt about the Valar, having never heard of them before she arrived in Middle Earth, and she was peeved that they would so mercilessly cast her into this world without so much as an explanation. She knew the necklace had power and saw its magic work on Legolas, but she'd gotten no closer to figuring out what it did or how. She could always give it to Thranduil, and he could try to use it. She reached behind her neck to remove it and held it out to him.

"Here," she said, "see if it responds to you. I can't figure out what the darn thing does."

He hesitated only a moment before wrapping his fingers around it. "This stone I do not recognize, but I do know the metal," he said, running his long index finger across an antler. "This is mithril, the strongest and most precious metal in Arda. Even the dwarves of Khazad-dûm dig deeper each year in search of veins of this." His fingers obscured the stone, and his eyes closed.

She watched the rise and fall of his chest, wondering what he was hoping for and wondering if she really wanted it to work. What would she do then, if she were no longer needed?

She should go home, but where was home anymore? She had a few loose ties to Middle Earth and basically none to Virginia anymore. When had she started just surviving instead of living? She glanced at Thranduil, thought about Meluieth, Legolas, Amroth, Ellavorn… every day the list grew longer. Sure, she'd interacted with them, smiled, and kept up conversations, genuinely cared about them, but had she really let herself connect with this new life? Had she given them an honest chance to connect with her? Could she? It felt like a betrayal to her mother, to her old life, stepping into this one without trying to go back to what she had before.

Thranduil was dealing with his own inner turmoil. His shoulders drooped, but his face remained clear. "Whatever it does, it will not serve me."

He stood and offered her a hand up, pulling her to her feet in the damp cave. "May I?" He held the necklace aloft.

"Thank you." She shivered as he shifted behind her, his hands slipping under her long tresses, gathering them and sliding them over her shoulder, and then his arms were around her with the necklace. He clasped it and smoothed the thin chain, the warmth of his hands sinking into her skin. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she turned to face him.

"We should find Berior and catch up with the camp," she said.

"We're not too far from it."

They stepped into the mid-morning sunlight, blinking against the brightness. The Tithenduin gurgled over stones, carving through the forest ahead, and a melded with a crunching sound that turned out to be Berior munching on a patch of clover. He did so belligerently as if he couldn't believe he was resigned to eating off the forest floor, and he was quick to abandon his breakfast and follow behind them as they moved along the river.

"How did you find us anyway?" Charlotte asked.

"Your elk leaves distinct tracks," Thranduil shrugged. "It was just a matter of finding them once he'd left the rocks. I was surprised you found this cave, though. My adar and I would stay here when we ventured the forest together. He once had it stocked with bedrolls and supplies for us. I continued stocking the supplies and left both our bedrolls there after he died, but as the years passed, I couldn't bear to keep up the tradition. Now the border patrol occasionally uses it."

"Does it ever end? The pain?"

He glanced at her, eyes searching her pale face. "Yes, and no," he said. "I'm comforted by the knowledge that we will be reunited in Valinor, and I will never have to be parted from him again."

She had no such assurances about her own mother. The ache in her chest throbbed, and she stomped down on it. She wanted to ask him about Amroth's claim: that Oropher had killed Amroth's adar, but instead, she said, "Tell me about him. Please?"

Thranduil's hair fluttered over his shoulder. His strong profile was illuminated by the sun, and she caught herself admiring the way the light played in his silver eyes when he looked at her and said, "He was strict. Stern. He had clear expectations of each person's role within the kingdom, including mine, and we fought a lot, especially leading up to the betrothal with Nemir. But he loved his people passionately; I often thought it was the only time he displayed such emotion." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I wish to be better with Legolas. I'm trying, but…"

"I think part of loving someone is just taking down the barriers between you," she said.

Thranduil froze, and Berior nearly ran him over. She hadn't realized the elk had been trailing them that closely. "What if he hates me?" he whispered, so quietly she almost thought he hadn't said anything.

"Do you really think Legolas is capable of hating anyone?"

"That's true, but I wish he would like me, love me, rather than just 'not hate' me."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," she said. "You're kind and passionate and funny and sweet; what's not to like?"

His smirk made her realize what she'd said. "You think I'm sweet?"

"I mean," she flushed, but tried to hide it under a grin, "not as sweet as the elf who's been letting me keep his cloak for days, but I see potential."

Thranduil rolled his eyes, but the soft smile she loved popped into place. "Potential," he turned the word around, considering. "High praise coming from you. I'll take it."

Charlotte laughed and glanced sideways at him. "Considering your first statement about me, it's practically a glowing recommendation." She'd never discussed that first night with him in Elrond's office or the way his words had colored all of his actions afterward. "You called me an outsider, a threat to your kingdom, and a 'mortal plaything.'"

"In my defense, you were an outsider."

"That's a dismal apology."

"I will endeavor to provide a better one."

The camp was visible now, tucked under the arching trees, and when the elves caught sight of them, they stopped mid-action to stare. There were more elves than before, and she asked Thranduil about it.

"These are the elves pulled from the borders," he said. "They've been helping tend to the wounded and search for you. I imagine a great many are shocked that you are, in fact, still among the living. Though they should know better than to be so audacious in their attentions." The elves frantically resumed packing the camp, and though she occasionally saw one flick their gaze toward her, most resolutely avoided it.

She felt guilty that resources had been wasted on hunting her when she'd been snuggled up safely in a cave. "You said everyone was alright?"

"They are." He nodded at a passing elf and added, "We had a few scratches, and some of the guards are resting while the venom works its way out of their bodies. Most of them should be back on their feet by now, if not a bit sore. Now that we've found you, we'll put those few on horses and send the on-duty guards back to their posts. It would be best if we keep moving, especially now that we need to get the injured guards home."

When they entered his tent, it was packed. Meluieth dropped an armful of linen bandages at the sight of her, and Ellavorn's sigh of relief was cut short by Legolas wrapping himself around her leg. At first, she thought he was upset, but he was nearly bouncing in front of her. "Did you really kill a giant spider? I wanted to see it, but Adar and Ellavorn said I had to stay here. Ellavorn said it was big enough to eat Berior whole."

Thranduil glanced briefly at Charlotte with a wicked grin, and then said to Legolas, "It was big enough to eat two Beriors."

Charlotte snorted. "Hardly, or that boulder wouldn't have been enough to smash it."

Legolas's gasp had everyone laughing, save for Lothuial and Eithoril, who'd been frowning since her arrival. "You killed it," he said, voice filled with awe, "with a boulder?"

"Actually, Berior killed it with a boulder," she said.

"Then why did we see your light flare?" Thranduil asked.

"I used it to blind him."

Thranduil's eyes widened. "That is brilliant." He turned to Ellavorn. "Let's find a way for the guards to use that next time."

Charlotte flushed under the praise, but then asked, "Will there be a next time?"

"There was more than one," Ellavorn said, "Based on the number we found at the campsite, we suspect there is a nest hidden somewhere in the forest." And then seeing her confusion, he launched into their findings. "Haedirn had obviously been moved. He was restrained, alone in the south forest. The only sign of webbing was a single thick web dangling his cocoon from the upper branches. When Thranduil figured out it was a trap, the guards rushed back to camp. We were lucky you ordered us to move. Four spiders tracked us to the campsite. They likely would have arrived sooner if Thranduil hadn't ordered the patrols to move south. The border guards and Thranduil managed to detain three at the camp. We obviously met the fourth, and you know what happened from there."

"Which brings us back to moving," Thranduil said. "Ellavorn, prepare the camp to march on to _Emyn Duir_. Come, _ion nin, _I will help you with your horse."

Legolas scampered after him, and Ellavorn followed after a hasty farewell to Charlotte. "My heart sings to see you well. Please excuse me," he said.

Once the ellons were gone, Lothuial sneered, the expression warping her delicate features. "You're still alive," she said.

Meluieth was instantly on her, "And _you_ are alive only because of her actions."

"I am alive because of the training and strength of the Guards of _Eryn Galen_," she sniffed.

"That is true," Charlotte said. "We owe them a great debt of gratitude."

"They did their duty, as they should." Lothuial pulled at the edges of her sleeves, though they were already perfectly straight. "If only the spider had done his. Adar will see you dismissed from _Eryn Galen_, and perhaps they'll get a second chance."

"You'll find," Charlotte stepped closer and was amused to see Lothuial retreat, "that I will be tough to get rid of. Both orcs and spiders have failed. I'm not the least bit frightened of an over-inflated elleth."

"We'll see," she hissed and swept from the tent with her chin high. "Be careful, _Rhudoleth_. You're a pretty trinket now, but your usefulness, should you possess any, will eventually run its course."

Eithoril chased after her mistress, but hesitated at the tent flap, begrudgingly looked at Charlotte, and said, "Thank you."

Meluieth was chuckling by the time they were alone, and Charlotte joined her in scooping the dropped bandages into a basket. "I forgive you now," Meluieth said.

"For what?"

"I was disappointed that you didn't wait for me when you put her down the first time."

"Goodness, you and Ellavorn talk like I should have sold tickets."

"What are 'tickets?'"

"Nevermind."

Meluieth wrapped a surprised Charlotte in a tight hug. "My heart sings to see you well, _mellon nin_.

Charlotte squeezed her back. "It's a relief to see you well. Here, let me help you fix these bandages."

"Oh, no, you're going to sit and eat something. I'll have to boil these again once we reach the next camp. It'll be fine; we have plenty prepared already."

"Fine, but only if you join me."

Meluieth narrowed her eyes and plopped the basket of tangled linen down before she plunked into a seat. "You'll never hear me reject breakfast. It's my favorite meal. My naneth once told me stories of these small men called halflings that live in the Vales of Anduin, and they eat two breakfasts a day, and that honestly just sounds like the perfect life for me."

"Two breakfasts, huh?" Charlotte grinned.

"Mmhm," she popped a hunk of sweet bread slathered in honey into her mouth. "Naneth says they eat _at least_ six times a day, but I don't need all that. I'm just in it for the breakfasts."

"You should petition Thranduil to add a mandatory second breakfast to our day," Charlotte said. "Legolas would be thrilled if there were oatcakes involved."

"I did that once, actually." Meluieth leaned over the narrow table. "He teased me for days about it, but every year, without fail, on my begetting day, he sends two breakfasts to my room, and when I mention it to him, he does that thing, you know—" She elongated her neck, craning it, swan-like, over her shoulder and with perfect articulation said, "If there's been an error with the food distribution, it would be a matter best brought up with the butler or the cook."

"And you did not," Thranduil said as he strode into the tent.

Meluieth turned to Charlotte, "Of course not. Galion is my brother. He probably helped. Which is good, because I don't think the cook has forgiven me for liberating those sweet buns before the journey, and my begetting day is fast approaching. Once I'm a fully trained healer, she'll have to forgive me, because she's in the infirmary at least once a month for a burn."

"How much longer before you're considered trained?" Charlotte asked as she helped Meluieth pack the food away to be loaded.

"I'm close," Meluieth said. "Lord Elrond is confident that I'll be ready after the Imladris journey next year. We didn't plan to stay long with everything happening this year, but I'll be there for a month of training next year, and then our current healer can finally sail as he's been wishing."

"Everything happening?"

"Later," Thranduil interrupted, with a firm look at Meluieth. "For now, we need to move. Half the day is gone already, and we're still at least two days from _Emyn Duir_."

Charlotte only hoped they could make it safely to the mountains without another creature attempting to claim her and injuring the elves in the process.

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Translations:

_mellon nin— _my friend

_Rhudoleth— _Unwelcome one / Unwelcome elleth

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AN: A little short, but the next two are longer. Thanks for reading and commenting!


	18. A Key Date

The water was frigid, but it felt incredible on her sore muscles after riding all day. Meluieth and Charlotte had jumped in the Tithenduin after scrubbing the filth from their clothes, deciding that they would rather be clean too. Their tunics and leggings wept rivulets down the boulders that rimmed the river, the evening sun baking them against the rocks, and Charlotte thought that they were more likely to freeze than dry. She was well on her way to turning into an elleth-shaped ice cube.

"I'm going to dry," she told Meluieth, who nodded and waved her toward the two linen towels hanging over the branches. Charlotte whipped one down, wrapped it around her body, and then, in a move that would've surprised her old self, laid under the sun in nothing but the towel, feeling the prickly grass on her skin and crunch of leaves under her hair.

She'd felt off-kilter all day, like she was watching her body from above, disoriented and disconnected. Conversation and laughter had drifted around her while she rode, and though her ears heard the words, her mind couldn't make sense of them. And it had all started with sweet innocent Legolas, who had excitedly announced to the indulgent party that it was exactly one month until _Mereth Nuin Giliath_.

"Charlotte, you'll love it," he'd said. "There's a big feast and oatcakes and honey, and we get to stay up late. Well, I guess you get to anyway, but I do too because it's the longest night of the year, and we celebrate the stars and Varda, and I get to go to the party!"

"That's great, Legolas," she'd said, though she felt like she would vomit. She was right when she guessed that _Mereth Nuin Giliath _was a winter solstice celebration. Which meant that it was currently sometime in late November by her calendar.

_Her_ birthday. Her mother's birthday. It was somewhere this week. Could she have unknowingly missed it already? She'd lost herself for the rest of the journey, ignoring the feel of Thranduil's worried eyes on her. Meluieth hijacked her in her zombie state to join her at the river, and Charlotte agreed, thinking that scrubbing the dirt from her skin and clothes would snap her back into her body.

But while her hands worked, her mind was free to tumble, over and over, the date like a key in a lock, until she was fighting back memories of her mother and vacantly staring at the half-washed tunic in her hands as it drifted in the current. Meluieth had gently pried it from her cold fingers and continued on as if nothing had happened.

Now, stretched out in the clearing beside the Tithenduin, Charlotte filled her lungs with crisp autumn air. The bronze sunlight drifted through the naked boughs, illuminating the backs of her eyelids, and she let herself settle into the warm, familiar underneath space Thranduil had shown her. There, in the cavern that housed her soul, the starlight of her fëa frolicked. She bathed herself in it, baptizing her mind in her truth, and grabbed the swell in two ethereal hands, bringing it up, up, up to the surface, rising like bubbles in champagne, until it burst through her pores.

"You're getting faster," Meluieth praised. "Soon, you will be able to unveil your light at will." She plopped down beside Charlotte, dressed once more in her damp tunic and leggings.

Charlotte had taken much longer than she imagined. A hazy blue veiled the sky, the only remnant of the dying sun, and the moon had peaked early over the treetops. She grabbed her beloved tunic, sliding it over her wild hair, and slipped into her leggings. They would hopefully finish drying as she slept by the fire; otherwise, she would be in for a long, painful day of riding with cold, moist leggings.

"Of all the garments you have at your disposal," Meluieth said as she gathered their towels and kneeled on the bank to wash them, "you select the one that fits the least."

Charlotte snuggled further into the sweet-smelling fabric. There was a hint of pine beneath, a nod to the forest around her. "It feels like home. I love big oversized shirts like this for relaxing, especially thick comfy sweaters. I would've had one on me when I arrived, but I had just taken it off to go to bed…" She froze, fought against the emotions that threatened to overtake her. "It would've been destroyed by the orcs anyway."

Every day that passed was harder. The memories rattled in their cage, waiting for the moment that she wouldn't be able to contain them any longer. Deep within, she saw her own hidden fëa flicker, watched the center compress and darken.

She needed to bury this for now. If she didn't, if she fell apart, it would never end. Wave upon wave would crash over her head, and she would drown forever in her own personal Sisyphean hell. There had to be a purpose for her being in Middle Earth, a reason for ripping her away, and she couldn't afford to collapse and ignore it. This mysterious task stood between her and any attempts to return to Virginia.

Did she even want to go back?

Thankfully, Berior interrupted that thought when he ambled into their small clearing. "Hey, big guy," Charlotte reached to rub his neck. "How are you doing this evening?" She usually didn't see Berior at night. She assumed he wandered the forest doing elk things, and he always returned in the morning to carry her on the journey to _Emyn Duir_. Would he stay once they'd reached their destination? Or would he be another "goodbye" she'd be forced to say?

"Well," Meluieth said, her arms full of their clothes, "I'm going to hang these by the fire to finish drying." Seeing Charlotte's face, she added, "Stop offering to help me. You know I'm going to say no, and I'll dump these all in the river if you try anything like last time."

Last time, Charlotte had scooped everything up and ran for it, laughing and insisting that Meluieth take a break while she rolled their clothes and packed them. Ellavorn helped keep her hidden while she worked, and Meluieth had no choice but to relax since she couldn't find her lady or their clothing.

"Fine. I'll catch up later," Charlotte said, forcing her lips into a polite smile. The words sounded hollow in her ears. "I think I just want to enjoy the view a little longer."

The first stars winked at her from the night sky, and she admired the thin sliver of the moon. She didn't think she'd ever get over the beauty of the night sky uninterrupted by city lights and pollution. Even her mother's house, tucked between miles of cornfields, far back on a road so unimportant the county had never painted it, didn't possess half as many stars.

She could picture the warm gold light pouring through the windows, stretching its fingers through the railings on the wraparound porch, down the long lawn where she played princesses and dragons with her beautiful younger sister and vibrant mother. Her mother was always the dragon by choice so she could soak in the shrieks and giggles as her girls darted around the yard to escape the dragon's flames. It invariably ended with them collapsed in a heap, tucked within her mother's arms, broad grins splitting their faces. She tried to picture it in her mind, her mother's cheeks pink from exertion, her nose sprinkled with freckles like Abby's, but although she knew those details, the image she conjured was fuzzy, like she had to construct it herself instead of pulling an actual memory. Was she forgetting already?

Charlotte took a shuddering breath and dropped to her knees beside the Tithenduin. In the smooth water, her wobbly form glowed softly against the vague reflection of stars. Berior settled beside her, head resting on the bank and the tips of his antlers visible in the water.

"You may be better off with Legolas tonight," she told the elk, patting his shoulder gently. "I'm afraid I'm not the best company right now."

Berior snorted indignantly and wiggled his body as if to say, "I'm staying."

Her mother would've loved Berior. Dora had always preferred the animal sidekicks to their companions in movies. She was the type of woman who greeted the dog before the owner. Charlotte still remembered the devastation when her mother had decided to quit volunteering at her local animal shelter because she'd phased out and left a kennel and a door open. The staff found her wandering the parking lot, searching for her car. Charlotte had dropped her off before work and had to leave the university early to pick her up.

The volunteers used to drop by her mother's house once a week with a dog or cat from the shelter, but as her mind dripped away, so did the visits. All those people. All the lives her mother touched, and in the end, she was alone. Not even her daughters beside her.

Charlotte's nose and eyes burned. Heat settled in her chest. She felt the air shift before she heard him and wondered when she had become so aware of him. Wondered how he always seemed to show up just as her soul's aching became too noticeable.

"Legolas is asleep," Thranduil said, by way of greeting, before he sank beside her. His cloak brushed her arm, sent shivers racing along her body, and she resisted the urge to lean into him.

They were quiet, listening to the symphony of the river over the stones and the chirping and chirring of the woodland insects. She could see the fireflies dancing across the river. Swore she saw two small girls giggling and leaping to catch them with their mother chuckling behind them. Berior's big eyes studied the water, searching for something only he could see, and Charlotte tried desperately to shove the tempest back inside its box. She'd faced so much already. She resented that this one minuscule detail, this huge monumental date, was determined to undo her.

"Only a day left," Thranduil said. "We should reach _Emyn Duir _by evening tomorrow."

Charlotte nodded. She wanted to answer. Wanted to hear his deep voice whisper the stories of his people and their home. Craved the distraction his tales provided. But the sinking sun had swept away all vestiges of her good mood, of her, leaving behind only a numbness, a feeling of being too small to fit inside her body. Loneliness crept through her at the thought. She was as alone in this world as her last. Trapped in a body that felt like putting on a jacket three times too big.

Thranduil grabbed her hand, squeezed gently. "You seem so far from here, to a place I cannot travel or pull you from."

"Just tired, I suppose," she whispered. Deep below her still surface, she felt the torrent of emotions raging beyond her reach. It was safer this way.

"When we reach _Emyn Duir_, you'll be able to rest better, I hope. It's a temporary home, but not without its comforts."

What wasn't temporary in her life? So far, nothing had been permanent. Why should she expect this to be any different? She studied her reflection in the water, the sharp lines of her elven face, the tips of the pointed ears peeking through her curls. Imladris was the last place she had seen herself. There were obviously no mirrors packed for the journey, and she'd avoided viewing herself anyway. Now, a single day's ride from _Emyn Duir_, it seemed impossible to ignore what she'd become and who she'd left behind.

"I saw you today," he said. "When Legolas mentioned the feast."

No. Her lip quivered. She couldn't talk about this. Anything but this. She opened her mouth and tried to say something, anything, to change the topic, but her throat was sealed. A sharp stabbing pain lanced through her as she swallowed her words.

Her eyes burned. She felt Thranduil shift closer, and she fought to hide the hitch in her breath. Clenched her fists on her thighs until her nails left crescents in her palms. She couldn't break down. Not here. Not now. She'd been so strong up to this point. Up to the precipice she now dangled over.

"I still have one last question," Thranduil whispered. She felt his fingers ghost over her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear. They wrapped delicately around her cheek, turning her until his silver eyes captured hers, and she knew, looking into the agony displayed in his eyes, long before his lips formed the words, that he was about to unhinge the storm inside her.

"Please," she whispered. It came out cracked.

"Who was it?"

She squeezed her eyes, felt the moisture rising above her lashes. Not even to avoid her pain would she lie, but she could flee. She stood, turning to run from him. From the clearing. From everything swirling inside her.

But he grabbed her hand and held tight. She couldn't bear to look at him when her emotions were so wild.

"Charlotte?" His voice was achingly sweet. "Don't run. Face this." He turned her to him, his pale hair glowing against his dark tunic. She stared at his chest.

"I can't. If I do, I'll never be able to stop."

"You can. You will." He ducked down until she was forced to meet his eyes, so soft and full of shared pain and understanding. "You've carried this alone long enough."

And then the cage burst.

"My mother," she sobbed, gasping for air, feeling her body shaking. Her chest was on fire. Everything she'd held for weeks tore free, intent on destroying her. Tears streamed down her face until Thranduil was no more than a blur before her. Something was shredding her lungs. A fist reached in and squeezed her heart.

Dimly, she felt Thranduil pull her into his arms. Felt the soft fabric under her cheek grow damp. "I'm ruining your shirt," she said stupidly. He couldn't see her like this, weak and fragile and useless, but she had no strength to walk away. Her lungs felt too small, her breaths rapid. She couldn't get air. Grief wheezed through her mouth, spots erupting in her vision.

"Let it all out," Thranduil soothed.

"I can't stop," she sobbed. "I can't get it to stop, and I can't breathe, Thranduil. I can't breathe. She's gone. She's gone, and she didn't remember me, and I wasn't there." The trees spun around her, the stars blurring into swirls. She swayed in his grasp.

Thranduil scooped her into his arms, and she tightened her grip on his shirt. "Hold on tight," he murmured. "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe."

There was a splashing sound, and she felt the cold water rising over her hips, up her arms, until she floated in the river, held tightly against his chest while the water parted around them. Tears surged down her cheeks, melding with the cold current to be carried away. Her heart was hammering, and she sought his glowing face. The stone in her necklace burned brightly, but she couldn't focus enough to tell if she was impacting Thranduil. Her mind was spinning. She fought the urge to claw at her chest, to rip her raging heart out. "It hurts," squeezed her eyes closed. "Oh, god, it hurts." Her sobs sounded feral to her own ears, animalistic.

"I'm here," he said. "You're not alone."

And that only made her cry harder, thick ugly tears that burned their way down her face. "Sh-she didn't even remember me. She forgot me, and she's gone. She left the world, not knowing she had a daughter who loved her, and now I'm alone."

It felt like hours, years, passed in the river as Charlotte cried for everything she'd lost and all that she'd faced. Her mother's slow decline played over in her mind: the erasure of her memories, the loss of identity, the constant begging for Abby, the accidents. Her mother died a little each day for a decade, and Charlotte had a front-row seat.

She sobbed as she remembered the feel of the orc blood on her fingers, the lurch of the blade as it entered his neck. Cried for her terror in those moments when she felt so alone and helpless. Broke over the knowledge that the spider had been after her and elves had been injured in the process. That she had nearly been killed again.

Thranduil remained steadfast as she purged it all. He'd tucked her head beneath his chin, patiently riding out her storm with her, swaying them in the river's current, until she was nothing but an empty shell, utterly devoid of anything besides numbness and the echo of pain.

She shook in the chilly water but didn't ask to move. Her mind felt startlingly empty, her body vacant. Thranduil smoothed a thumb over her arm, gentle strokes that caused her skin to pebble.

"Sink," he whispered, the warmth of his breath ghosted over her forehead.

"I can't." She didn't think she even had a soul any longer. Surely it had been swept downriver with the rest of her agony?

"You and I both know that you do the impossible regularly," he whispered. She cracked open her tired eyes, met his own tearstained face, and felt herself succumbing to grief again at the sight. "Sink with me."

She nodded, closed her eyes, and he whispered against her cheek, "Keep them open and on me. I'm here with you. You're not alone."

His silver eyes trapped hers. Her breath shook in her lungs, and she focused on descending, down into the vast cavern of her body, where the blue-white light of her fëa rested. It flickered, on and off like a dying bulb, weak and dim.

"Set it free," Thranduil said, and she did.

She cried out in pain and grief and exploded her fëa outward until it filled the clearing, chasing the night's shadows away and glittering across the Tithenduin. And then there was a change in the air, and Thranduil's brilliant golden light held hers, just as his body cradled her, the sun and the stars reunited once more.

She finally understood what Legolas had meant when he said her fëa felt like a hug; every bit of Thranduil's fëa embraced hers, protected it, strengthened it. There was a faint hint of _something_ in it, before he shielded it away, always moving that vague feeling surging in his fëa before she could grasp it.

Her breathing evened, but her eyes were heavy. She sniffed, took a shuddering breath, and exhaled. "We're in the river," she said. She was surprised how hoarse her voice was, how wet and shaky the words sounded.

"Astute observation." His lips twitched.

"Why are we in the river?"

"You were concerned about ruining my tunic," he smiled softly. His thumb still rubbed soothing circles on her arm. "And it seemed the best solution to help center you when everything became too much."

She wiped her eyes and squeezed them shut, "You're wonderfully ridiculous."

"I can't decide if that's a step up from 'has potential.'"

"Thank you, Thranduil." Her heart hurt. She felt so drained, so empty. Her eyes followed the single remaining tear trailing down his cheek, and she slowly reached up, cupped his face, and smoothed it away. His glassy silver eyes locked on hers, and she swore he leaned into her palm, just for a moment, before he shifted his grip and carried her, shaking and chilled, from the river.

Berior made a soft cry behind her, and Thranduil huffed, "Of course, you can come. You're stubborn enough that I'd hardly be able to stop you anyway."

The elk let out a snort, and she could easily picture his smug expression in her mind though she couldn't see him trailing behind Thranduil.

Her eyes felt so heavy. It wouldn't hurt to close them against the burning sensation, just for a moment. Her head dropped against his shoulder. His words rumbled against her ear, the steady thumping of his heart in the background, "Rest. Release your burden. I will carry it tonight."

A final tear dropped from her lashes, filled with hope and gratefulness, and she let his swaying motion, his pine and vanilla scent, carry her into oblivion.

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AN: Thank you to everyone for the support. Your reviews/favorites/follows are cherished! I'm looking forward to your thoughts on this chapter and can't wait to share the next with you!


	19. In the Shadow of the Mountains

Charlotte woke with a pounding headache and squinted against the bright sun. Her stomach turned at the swaying motion of Berior's trot, and a firm body kept her from sliding off the elk's back to vomit.

She both felt and heard the rumbled, "Thank the Valar, you're awake."

"Coffee," she grumbled, gazing blearily at Thranduil. "Why doesn't Middle Earth have coffee?"

She winced at his laugh, and he said, "At least it appears your brain is still functional."

"Depends on who you ask."

Berior snorted as if to agree.

"Hush, you," she said, which only made Thranduil laugh harder. She sighed and let her heavy head fall back against his chest. It wasn't like she could hop off Berior anyway, and her head hurt. Might as well be comfy. "Alright. Since I'm getting used to waking up in strange places: where are we this time?"

"We're almost to _Emyn Duir_," Thranduil said.

That made her sit up. The trees spun for a moment before the forest settled, and Charlotte saw the grey mountain erupting above the treetops. The road wandered into its shadow, curling through the woods at the river's side.

Thranduil held her snugly to his body with his free arm, and when she peeked over his shoulder, she could see the line of cheerful elves stretching along the length of the river. The water seemed to glitter in the sunlight, and her fuzzy mind conjured the memory of Thranduil, clutching her in his arms as she broke.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. She stared at her calloused palms, running her fingertips over the raised bumps where the reins had shaped her skin. She glanced up and found him staring at her, his mouth open and a small pucker between his brows.

"What for?"

"Last night I…" She'd been such a fool. So many people had it much worse than she did, and she bawled and let herself fall to pieces, and poor Thranduil had been stuck dealing with it. Legolas was handling his separation from his mother much better, and he hadn't had as much time as she had with her mother. Nor as much warning. Plus, he was, essentially, mentally a young child, despite being twenty-two years old. She'd let that weakness take over when she needed to batten down the hatches and get focused.

Thranduil's lips pinched, measuring his words carefully. Just when he opened his mouth to speak, he glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes shuttered. "We'll have to discuss this later," he said.

She welcomed the reprieve, dreading hearing the potential disappointment from him, the "suck it up and move on," she felt she deserved for moping.

Legolas rode up beside Berior, and tentatively asked, "Are you feeling better, Charlotte?"

"Much," she forced a smile. "Your presence is the best medicine in the world."

Legolas puffed up, his two dimples proudly displayed. "I told Adar I could make you feel better." He turned to pink-cheeked Thranduil, "See? She would've felt better last night, and you could've slept in your bed instead of that grumpy chair."

"I stole your bed?" Now she felt even worse.

"It was freely given." Thranduil reassured her, before dipping his lips to her ear to whisper, "I believe I told you once before that you were welcome to it."

Her face flushed. Her body itched with heat. What did he mean by that?

His eyes were focused on her, searching, and she admired the silver, flecked with sky blue. His blond, pin-straight hair was held back by the imposing branching crown he'd worn in Imladris, and he was dressed in his dark silver tunic and leggings with the matching burgundy-lined cape draped dramatically over his shoulders until it waterfalled over Berior's rump. He looked just as regal and predatory as the first time she'd seen him wear the ensemble, weeks ago, standing at the top of the stairs in the open doors of Lord Elrond's estate.

She probably looked frightening in comparison.

But when she checked herself over, she wore a thick oversized tunic similar to her prized borrowed one, and her hair had been braided back at the temples in the usual style of the Greenwood elves. Thranduil supplied the answer before she could ask. "Meluieth took care of you this morning when you didn't wake. We would have waited, but it was best to get to the mountains because of the injured elves."

Another person to be indebted to. That was twice Meluieth had to fix her up while she was unconscious. Though she wasn't sure how she had overslept or remained sleeping while someone changed her clothes and styled her hair, she resolved to find a way to pay her friend back later. Maybe she'd "liberate" more sweet buns since Meluieth had expressed such adoration for them. It would be a start, at least.

It seemed the morning would be full of shame and guilt, not only for adding to Thranduil's already overwhelming list of responsibilities but leaving him to wrangle her unconscious body onto a horse, or an elk as it were, to get his injured people to safety. Not to mention, they were only wounded because of her.

Guilt. She silently wallowed in it, mentally giving herself five minutes for self-pity and shame, and then forced herself to get it together.

There was a soft trill in the canopy above, and then another, before the towering mountains ahead trumpeted in welcome. Through the trees, she could make out a tall arched doorway, teal blue with scrollwork etched on the surface. The beaten path climbed up the rise to the mountain, until it disappeared in the mouth of the high wooden fence made from pale tree trunks lashed together.

As the horses and Berior streamed through the opening, Charlotte tried to adopt Thranduil's regal mien and failed miserably. There was a crowd of elves in leather armor, neatly lined on each side of the open courtyard beyond the gate. Behind the guards, eager elves gathered to watch the procession, and she could tell when their eyes caught the Elvenking in the lead. Of course, he was difficult to miss considering he rode atop Berior, the only massive elk in the group.

Admiration rippled through the crowd with Thranduil's approach. Seeing their bright eyes and wide, natural smiles, it was clear that they adored their king. However, when they caught sight of her, slung sidewise in the king's lap, their brows furrowed, and smiles thinned. Charlotte attempted to straighten further. Would it be too noticeable to shimmy a leg over Berior, so she at least sat astride? She'd ridden the three weeks to _Emyn Duir, _and the moment that mattered most, she appeared as incapable as an elfling.

A quick glance at Legolas had her correcting that: she looked worse than an elfling. She really needed to rethink how she saw the abilities of elven children. Then again, there were human children whose riding skills far exceeded her early attempts. Not that any of her hands-on, bruising training mattered now. How was she supposed to prove to these elves that she could be useful? That she could, albeit temporarily, belong with them? Her arsenal of usefulness included: a sparkly necklace she didn't know how to use, a pretty fëa, and some rudimentary riding skills.

The armored elves seemed to close in on her. Would Beorn truly take her back if these elves decided they didn't want her? She tried to picture herself spending the rest of eternity tending to his garden and avoiding the massive bees until she could find a way back to Virginia. Maybe when she epically failed, whoever sent her to Middle Earth would pack her up post haste and ship her back just to be rid of her.

Thranduil shifted behind her, climbing off Berior with ease and grace she'd never be able to emulate. Falling in front of these people would be even worse. He looked confused when she ignored his offered hand and slid from her perch with wobbly legs. Dirt puffed around her boots as she landed, and she barely contained her sigh of relief.

The village was small, with clusters of wood houses and peaked roofs, and a single stone home with square utilitarian stairs leading up to a pair of matching carved doors, the only decorated structure besides the gate to the village. Everything was surprisingly simple, considering the artistry of both Imladris and Beorn's house.

There was a distinct lack of plant life in the village. It was overwhelmingly brown: soft powdery dirt, faded log houses, the air thick with dust because of the horses. Even Berior looked displeased with his surroundings, and Charlotte wondered if he'd leave for literally greener pastures.

The only spot of color came from the grey stone house and its teal doors, which groaned open to emit a sharp-featured blond ellon. The ellon raised his arms wide in welcome, and Charlotte was convinced that she had seen him before. She was able to mostly understand the string of elvish he greeted them with, thanks to the intense Sindarin lessons during the journey.

"My heart sings to see you returned home, my king!" The ellon stopped a few feet from Thranduil to deliver a short bow, and then he was off again, "It has been a long two months without you. When word reached us that your party had been waylaid by beasts in the forest, I expected you to be away even longer. It is a relief to have you among us again. I imagine you have much to tell of your journey. Galion will arrange for the rest of the party to be settled while we talk."

Thranduil offered an arm to Charlotte, which she took after a moment's hesitation. "See to it that a meal is ordered for the entire party," Thranduil said to the ellon. "Ellavorn, Charlotte, and Legolas will join us in the hall, and we can discuss while we eat."

"Of course, my lord." The ellon stopped, a single dark blond brow raised, "I mean no disrespect, but would it not be preferred for matters of state to be discussed only between us?" His eyes flickered briefly to Charlotte, before alighting on Legolas.

"It would not." Thranduil swept past him, as regal and aloof as when she'd first encountered him in Imladris.

The house was as plain on the inside as it was without, and Charlotte was surprised, given the extravagant designs of Thranduil's robes, how few possessions were in the building. The entrance hall, if the small square foyer could be called such, was barren. The aged wood planks creaked and groaned under their feet as they followed the hallway that drilled straight through the house, passing militant wooden doors lining each side, and she couldn't help but feel like the elves were out of place in such an environment.

When they reached the dining room, Charlotte had to pinch her lips to keep from smiling. She definitely could not picture her proud, elegant Elvenking at the long, scratched dining table, seated in one of a handful of mismatched chairs. An iron chandelier twirled, its candles freshly lit, and already she could see beads of wax blooming beneath the flames, trickling down the sides like pale tears.

Thranduil pulled out a high backed chair near the center of the table and patiently waited for her to realize that it was for her. Once she was settled, he took the seat to her right and called Legolas to sit at his other side.

The strange ellon narrowed his eyes at her proximity to the king, and she fought the urge to shift away. Ellavorn, bless him, distracted the ellon with an irreverent clap on the shoulder and his usual broad grin. "Come, Cúthon, I'm starved. I say we eat first and talk second." He dropped into the chair across from Charlotte with a wink. "Fresh meat has been limited since we entered the forest. With giant spiders hunting us and all."

Cúthon. She'd heard that name before, nearly a week ago in Thranduil's tent when the Marchwarden spoke of the three missing elves and the canceled search for them. This had to be one of Thranduil's advisors. And that thought put the final piece into place. The familiar blond hair and sharp face, the commanding tone, as if the ellon was used to being obeyed; this was Lothuial's adar.

She felt instant distaste, though she fought hard to restrain it. He could be the opposite of his daughter, and, so far, had done nothing to earn her dislike besides spawning the little she-devil.

Charlotte shook her head, trying to banish her thoughts, just as servants trickled in bearing steaming silver trays of roasted game, bowls of crisp, sweet bread, and tureens of crushed cranberries, skinny green beans, and a warm, spiced, pumpkin soup. Then came crystal glasses half-filled with red wine so dark it was nearly purple, followed by smaller glasses of cold water.

She gently nudged her wine back and sipped the water instead. She had a feeling she needed to be alert around Cúthon. He had a broad viper's smile that made her feel like a mouse in a cage.

"Sweet bread." Legolas's smile pushed his dimples into existence, his eyes concentrated on the overflowing bowl of rolls placed in front of him, and that was enough for everyone to chuckle, the tension evaporating as they dug in.

Charlotte was about to select a slice of the roasted game, when Ellavorn moaned around his bite and said, "Cook has outdone herself, this venison is delightful. Especially after weeks of rabbit."

Sweet Berior popped into her mind, his wide silver eyes judging her, and she dropped the serving fork, switching to soup instead and trying to ignore the twitch of Thranduil's lips. She'd eventually succumbed to eating rabbit on the journey. Deer would probably be next. There were thousands of years ahead of her to adjust to new things, after all, and that thought made the soup cold in her mouth.

"Tell me about the search for the missing elves," Thranduil said after everyone had cleared their plates. Legolas's eyes were drooping, and Charlotte worried he would smack his head on the table once he fell asleep. Even as she watched, he jerked his little head up, fighting to stay awake.

"There isn't much to tell," Cúthon said. He shot another quick glance at Charlotte. "It was called off when the border patrol couldn't find a trail."

Thranduil hummed and sipped his wine. "Ellavorn and I will be meeting with the Marchwardens tomorrow morning. The elves have been taken by spiders, descendants of Ungoliant. Because of Lady Charlotte and the border patrol, we were able to rescue Haedirn. Now that we know what we're hunting, we'll resume the search."

"You do not think they're still alive?"

"I'm thinking that we will not abandon our people without knowing. There is a nest somewhere in this forest that needs to be eradicated, lest they seize more of us. Lady Charlotte has already found one elf alive. There is still some small hope that the others can be recovered as well."

Cúthon's lips pinched. "My thanks, Lady, for your assistance in this matter."

"She will be staying with us for the foreseeable future," Thranduil continued. "I want her settled in the house, preferably near Legolas and myself."

The lord's eyes widened in understanding, and he nodded quickly. "I'm sure we can find suitable lodgings nearby for Legolas's tutor. In fact, Lothuial's maid has an extra bed in her home. I can arrange for Charlotte to be—"

"_Lady_ Charlotte is not a tutor," Thranduil said. His fingers twirled the stem of his glass, slowly swirling the burgundy wine, throwing glimmers like bloodstains across the table. Should she tell him that, technically, she had been a tutor in her old life? She studied their cool, emotionless faces. The two ellon were locked in an invisible battle that clearly had very little to do with her, so she sat back to watch.

"If she's not a tutor, then—"

"She is a representative of the Valar, and she will be remaining within the house."

"I'm afraid we only have one available room, my king," Cúthon said. "And I assumed Prince Legolas would be taking it."

"The prince will stay with me," Thranduil said, and even he looked surprised by it.

"I will?" Legolas jerked up. There was a red imprint on his cheek where his fist had propped his sleepy head. "You want me to stay with you?"

Thranduil was quiet for a moment. He glanced at Charlotte, and she could hear the echo of his question from the morning outside of the cave: _What if he hates me? _She took a deep breath, watched his own lungs match it, and gave him a small smile. _He will love you_, she tried to say silently. _Just reach out and let him._

Shoulders squared, he turned to Legolas and softly said, "Of course, _ion nin_. If you would like it, I would be greatly pleased to have you close."

Charlotte felt her eyes watering at the radiant smile Legolas bestowed on his adar and the matching one that brightened Thranduil's expression. She swore for a moment that she saw their fëar reach out to each other before their glow dimmed to their natural level once more.

Cúthol had soured. His mouth twisted, and he sighed as he rose from his chair. "It appears that's been settled then. I'll ensure Galion is made aware."

"Have him inform Meluieth as well, and send Maethor to meet me once he arrives."

"Maethor arrived this morning, Your Majesty."

"Excellent. He's here earlier than I expected. Galion can send him to me in the morning then." Thranduil said with a dismissive wave. Galion would apparently be very busy.

Once the advisor had vanished to see to his tasks, Ellavorn grumbled and speared a slice of venison. "I warned you not to leave him in charge," he said. "He's plotting something again."

"He's always plotting something," Thranduil rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean he'll be successful. That aside, you know there was no choice. Who else would the people have followed?"

"Them following him is what worries me."

"For now, we need to focus on moving north," Thranduil said and finished off his wine glass. "I don't like that these spiders are hiding, moving undetected, through our forest. We leave as soon as the harvest is completed."

"So soon?" Ellavorn switched Charlotte's untouched wine with his empty glass. "Is it ready?"

"Charlotte and I will find out in two days. It gives the horses rest, and hopefully, Haedirn will be able to assume his duties by then. We'll need to find a temporary replacement for Maethor as the Northern Marchwarden. Legolas should come as well."

"To tomorrow's meeting or with you and Charlotte?"

Thranduil pinched his lips in thought before saying, "Both, however, I want you here keeping an eye on Cúthon. He's been left to his own schemes long enough."

Charlotte looked past Thranduil, surprised that Legolas hadn't jumped at the opportunity for another journey, only to find his head pillowed on his arms, his mouth slightly open and eyes glazed in sleep.

"I think," she whispered, a soft, amused smile forming, "the only place Legolas will be going is to bed." It had been an exhausting day for everyone, and they would all probably benefit from an early night.

"Ellavorn, would you see to it that the horses and Berior have been taken care of? Charlotte is correct. I need to move him to bed." Thranduil glanced uncertainly at Legolas before gently scooping the elfling into his arms. He froze when Legolas shifted, his eyes wide with panic until Legolas settled, still deep in sleep.

"I'll help you," Charlotte whispered. "Just lead the way."

She followed him into the hallway, opening a door midway down. The room inside held two narrow beds, and a crumbling chest of drawers with a candle balanced on top.

Thranduil slowly placed Legolas in the only bed with blankets, and then stood back to admire his efforts. She nearly chuckled, but instead said, "Would you like help taking off his boots?"

He took her gentle hint and nodded, and together they quietly attempted to unlace the elfling's leather boots, slipping them to the floor when they were successful, and then Thranduil hit his stride. Charlotte watched him loosen the braids in Legolas's hair, dragging his long fingers through the strands until the tight braids fell away. He tucked the blanket over his son, brushed the back of his hand, and they both tiptoed from the room.

Thranduil was silent as he led her into the room beside his, and shut the door with a soft thud behind them. Meluieth and Galion had worked quickly. One of the beds had already been made, and her pack sat on the opposite one. The furniture and layout were a carbon copy of Thranduil's room, and the sliver of pink sunset danced through the window panes and warmed the walls.

"I wasn't expecting closed windows here," she said, her voice still low.

"We could open them if you like?"

"I meant I wasn't expecting them to be sealed with glass panes. The ones in Imladris are open to the elements."

"Imladris rarely receives ill weather, and elves are more adaptable to heat and cold than men." He pulled her to sit on the bed beside him. "I've noticed that you do not have that same protection for some reason."

"No worries. That mysterious kind ellon who gave me his cloak has yet to reclaim it. I'll be warm enough tonight. The windows are just an added bonus."

Thranduil squeezed her hand, his eyes glittered with humor. "Do not get accustomed to them. This is merely a temporary home. We move north as soon as we're able to harvest enough rations for the winter."

"And will this new home have windows?'

"Like these?" He shook his head. The branching crown cast shadows on the walls, and she itched to take it off, to watch his silver hair sway loose about his face. "This is not an elven settlement. These homes were built long ago by a group of Northmen who abandoned them during the war. We stay here now because _Amon Lanc_ was crumbling around us, and we were too few to repair it and defend it."

"So, where will you go now? Aside from the vague 'north?'"

"Years ago, I sent our elves to excavate and prepare a series of caverns found in the northeast near the Forest River. Their work is nearly completed, and we've been transporting our belongings and supplies up the Tithenduin in preparation for the final journey. We should be safer there. Even here, with the mountain at our back, it would be difficult to survive an outright attack, and something moves in the south. You've seen it. Darkness creeps under the boughs, searching, seeking. We felt it weighing on our fëa in _Amon Lanc_, though we could never determine from whence it came."

"Have you felt it in the song?"

He shook his head, "Not since that night with you."

That magical night where her soul had been free for once, soaring through the forest with his. She hadn't been able to fly through the song like that again. "Maybe, we can try again?"

Thranduil cocked his head, considering, before he said, "Perhaps another night. Something drained you last night, cast you into a slumber none of us could wake you from. Whatever magic your necklace wielded, it pulled its power from you."

"You didn't feel it?" This whole time, she'd sworn that the necklace had targeted him like it had soothed Legolas. If he hadn't felt it, then what activated the necklace? And what had she done?

"I only saw its light," he said, and, as if hearing her thoughts, he grasped her hand. "My feelings and actions were entirely my own."

She dared a glance at him, saw the softness in his eyes, the gentle smile she adored. "Thank you," she whispered, "for being there."

"Would you like to tell me about her?" His interest was so sincere.

She bit her lip, searching his eyes, and finally decided that if one person in all of Middle Earth knew about her mother, she'd want it to be him. "The night I was pulled here, the night I showed up in those fields outside of Imladris, she died. I had just come home from visiting her…"

The truth spilled out, all of it. The hours she'd spent working multiple jobs. Dropping out of college to take care of her mother. The fire that almost burned the house down and led to hiring Betsy and picking up an extra job. Her mother's slow, agonizing mental deterioration. How she had cried in her car in the driveway the first time her mother treated her like a stranger. Hours of hearing her mother ask for her absent sister. Friends who slowly vanished. The pain of learning that sometimes doctors can only make a "best guess." The first time she had to wash all the sheets in the night while her mother sobbed in the bath. She told him about sleeping for a year on Dora's couch, hearing the baby monitor's crackle while she tried to rest and praying her mother would wake her if she got up.

Pain spilled out of her mouth, tumbling over her tongue, and Thranduil patiently held her hand, and later, her, when the tears overwhelmed her. This time, she could breathe. The ache lessened with each word until it settled at a dull, distant throb behind her bones. Thranduil sat with his back against the wall, his long legs stretched until his bare feet dangled over the edge of the bed. They'd ditched their boots, and he'd pulled her up beside him with her head on his shoulder.

He offered no platitudes, no vague apologies. There were no attempts to fix her or tell her to "suck it up and move on." He simply held her and listened, every now and again asking a small question to clarify or rubbing her hand or shoulder.

"I feel lighter and heavier somehow," she murmured. Darkness had settled over the room, though neither of them moved to light the candle. It felt like a blanket, a cocoon sheltering this moment from the wild world she'd found herself in.

His thumb grazed her shoulder again. The branching crown sat beside him on the bed, and his hair fell over his chest. She longed to run her fingers through it to see if it was as silky as it looked. "I mentioned, when we talked about my adar, that my naneth's death left a wound on his fëa. When I looked at you that first night in Imladris, covered in dirt and in your shredded clothes, I could see it. In both your eyes and your fëa, that same agonizing wound."

"So that's why you've been so kind to me," she said.

"Partially."

She raised a brow at him, but he said no more. "Does that mean it's healed now?"

"Don't rush it. A wound like that takes time, and it never really heals all the way. It's like any severe injury your body suffers; the right circumstances will make it ache."

"I just don't want to forget her," she said. "I have nothing of my old life here. Even this necklace is from this world somehow, because mithril doesn't exist in my time. After a thousand years, will I even remember her face? Her voice? The way her laugh sounds?"

"You'll find our life span both a curse and a blessing. You'll form new bonds, and, if you're lucky, you'll find a bonded."

"How are you doing with that?"

"With Nemir?" He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I cannot lie and say that I miss her. When she left, I was filled largely with guilt at my own relief. Relief that I would no longer have to battle her for Legolas, that I would finally have a chance to strengthen my bond with him. Guilt came quickly after. How could I feel relieved when it caused him pain? I carried betrayal and hurt for so short a time I left them in Imladris. We were never in love, and I knew we would never bond. It finally set me free to find the bond I've waited millennia for."

"How do you know?" She asked, her eyes felt heavy, and his body was wonderfully warm. "How did you know you'd never bond?"

"You're half asleep as it is," he squeezed her hand. "Another time. It's late now, and we both need rest. I'll see you in the morning. Rest well."

He vanished so quickly, scooping up his boots and crown and ducking from her room, she hardly believed he'd been there at all.

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AN: Thank you so much for your reviews/follows/favorites! They're cherished! I look forward to hearing your thoughts!


	20. Shadows and Sweet Bread

Charlotte was dripping with sweat, her hands slick enough that she nearly dropped her dagger. Again.

Ellavorn had sent Meluieth to drag her from bed before sunup, and she'd been training with him on the worn field near the eastern fences since. She'd stayed up late into the night speaking with Thranduil, so she was hungry, sweaty, tired, and irritable. And she had a knife.

"Damnit, Ellavorn," she growled, as he leaped into the trees to avoid her strike. "Get your ass down here so I can stab you."

She heard his stupid, gleeful laugh overhead, and spun just in time to see him land behind her. He lunged, and she tried to jump out of the blade's path. But Ellavorn feinted, turning in time to seize her backward against his body with the blade at her neck.

"Again," he said and released her.

Berior lay just outside the makeshift training ring, watching her every move with a laser focus that had her thinking he too would start barking orders and critiques.

"Why are we doing this again?" She said as she took her stance across from him. Her feet shifted, trying to get a secure footing in the loose dirt.

"Because you're terrible at it?"

"Ha. Ha."

"Because you let yourself be cornered by a spider and forgot you had a weapon at your disposal." He nodded at the ornate dagger in her hand, the one Amroth had gifted to her after her first lesson weeks ago.

"Did you see that spider?" She said incredulously. "Nevermind. Of course, you did, but still! How on earth was I supposed to kill that thing with this?"

"And _that_ is why we're training." He flipped his own blade, smug and victorious. "Now, defeat me."

"Fine," she huffed and dove at him once more. She hated how out of shape she was compared to him. Hated how her clothes stuck to her body with sweat, but he looked like he'd been out for a morning stroll. Secretly loved how freeing it was to learn to trust her body this way. Cherished the peace that came with the morning technique exercises that they did before this trial. It made her feel useful and strong, things stolen by the past two nights of emotional upheaval.

She kept her blade moving, kept her body away from his dagger, watching, waiting. Her opening was small, but it came, and she lunged for it, jamming the blade up through the gap under his arm, aiming for his side. He danced out of the way before it landed.

"Good. Do it again." Ellavorn had the same mischievous look he gave her right before he intentionally did something to piss her off. "Speed up. I'll let you have lunch if you can draw blood that's not yours."

A hit at the moment where she'd nicked her own arm somehow. She threw herself into it again, the clash of blades echoing through the dusty ring. The tiny opening he provided would come soon enough.

Just as she spotted it, he said, "Thranduil found you hours before you woke in that cave."

Her dagger went wide. Ellavorn kicked it from her hand, and she flung herself at it, scooping it up and rolling to her feet the way he'd drilled her a thousand times that morning.

"Your point?" She debated throwing it at him, but that seemed like an excellent way to lose her only weapon against him.

"You asked why we're training," he said innocently. "Someone managed to sneak up on you and remain unnoticed in your proximity for hours."

"Thranduil is hardly a threat to me," she said, even though she knew what he'd say next. She used it to her advantage.

"But you didn't know it was him. You didn't even notice— ah, sneaky, but not enough."

He jumped back from her attack, but she was ready. Following him, she knocked the blade from his hand and tackled him until she sat over his hips with her dagger at his throat.

"I could buck you off."

"Could you do it before I stabbed you?"

Eyes narrowed. "Probably not. Besides, your hands are already shaking. You're probably going to kill me on accident at this rate."

"Try not to kill one of my best guards," Thranduil said, and she nearly toppled off Ellavorn at the sound of his voice.

"He would deserve it for denying me sleep and breakfast," she joked.

Thranduil looked well-rested, despite being up just as early as her to attend a meeting with the Marchwardens. She'd seen a bleary Legolas trudging to the dining room as Meluieth ushered her out into the predawn grey mist to train with Ellavorn. Thranduil was dressed as the king again, with his crown and extravagant robes flung over his trade-mark split tunic and leggings. They matched the dark silver of his eyes perfectly. She forced herself to look away, to study the two ellon who flanked him.

Suddenly, the world tilted, and her back slammed into the dirt. This time Ellavorn sat on her.

"What did you forget?" His smile was infectious, and she laughed.

"Yes, I know."

"Good," he helped her up. "Stay focused, or the distraction could be the last thing you see. Now go find food and stretch to keep the soreness down. You're training tomorrow morning too before you head north."

She tucked her dagger into its sheath in her boot, and called to his retreating back, "Thank you!"

Food seemed to be further off yet since Thranduil spoke before she could stumble her way to the stone house in the old settlement.

"Charlotte," he bowed his head, a short quick movement. "This is Maethor," he indicated the elf to his left, and this nudged his head over, "and this is Haedirn. They'll be your personal guards during your stay with us."

Maethor gave her a quick militant nod and said nothing. Tight braids ran from his temples, the rest of his straw-colored hair loose about his broad shoulders. His jaw was squared, severe, as if he'd long ago forgotten how to smile.

Haedirn's bow was deeper, reverent, "My thanks to you, lady. I am told you are responsible for my continued existence." A single loose braid, decorated with a silver ring around the strands, swung free with the rest of his dark hair, framing his sharp face, highlighting his narrow nose, bright eyes, and plush mouth. He shifted as she studied him, and she could tell, looking at the eager way his lips smiled, a well-practiced come-hither twinkle in his eyes, that he was used to being ogled.

His companion gave a long-suffering sigh, and deadpanned, "I was almost free of him. I suppose, in time, I will forgive you, lady."

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you both," she said, her manners taking the lead. "I hope our trip will be uneventful, but I'd be delighted to get to know you while we travel."

Both guards looked at Thranduil in concern, and he fidgeted, shifting his weight. Whatever he was going to say, she knew she wasn't going to like it.

"Maethor and Haedirn will be assuming their duties immediately," he said.

"As in right now?"

He raised a brow, practically a challenge. His body was firm and unyielding, the full presence of a king. "Yes."

"Why do I need _two_ guards while I'm in the village?"

"This village is not as safe as you imagine." He lowered his voice, "Do not forget you are an outsider here."

That stung more than she wanted to think about. She crossed her arms and widened her stance. Maethor and Haedirn shifted back.

"Does Legolas have two guards?" she asked, knowing that he did not.

"Legolas is different."

"How so?"

"Legolas is an ellon." He said as if it explained everything.

"That's incredibly sexist," she stepped closer. "The fact that I'm an elleth is insufficient reason to put me under constant guard."

"You misunderstand me," he matched her step. His body curved over hers, and anger and heat burned in his eyes. "Ellons start training from the moment they're able to stand and hold a weapon. Legolas has over a decade of training, far surpassing your few sessions with Amroth and Ellavorn."

"Am I a guest or a prisoner?"

"A guest," he snarled. "A guest under my protection, whose wellbeing I am responsible for."

She jerked back. She'd let herself forget again in the darkness of the nights where he'd held her like she meant something to him. She was an asset, a resource, nothing more than an elleth he was "responsible for."

"I need to bathe." She moved around him as if he were nothing more than a chair in her path. "Send your guards to watch for all I care."

Haedirn made a choking sound and banged on his chest with his fist. Thranduil looked apocalyptic, a vein throbbing in his forehead.

"Charlotte," he started, but she sped up, storming up the low hill toward the house.

"She's fiery," she heard Haedirn say.

"Follow her. Try not to get burned." Thranduil's deep soft voice rolled toward her. "I need to find Ellavorn."

Contrary to her sarcastic invitation, both guards remained posted outside of the bathing room while she soaked the sweat and regret off. Had she been too hard on Thranduil? She'd lashed out when he implied that they weren't as close as she'd thought. Friends. She thought they were friends. Her traitorous mind whispered something else: _more_. She ignored it.

It wasn't fair for her to be angry with him for lack of feelings. Loyalty, which he felt so strongly for his people, was admirable. His complete lack of regard for her feelings about being shadowed by guards… she could be angry about that.

Her fingers pruned while she thought it over. Was there really a threat to her within the fence? In the house? She could hear the quiet murmurs of Maethor and Haedirn in the hall. Either they agreed that there was a risk or they were just following orders. It could be both.

She couldn't shake the feeling that Thranduil's belief in her vulnerability came from the night in the river. The moment she let herself break. Had it warped his view of her? She tried to tell herself she didn't care, but somewhere in the past month, she'd started concerning herself over what he thought of her. And not just him, but his people.

She'd never belonged anywhere before. Not really. Especially not during the decade of her early adulthood, a time that was supposed to be devoted to setting out on her own and figuring out who she was, who she chose to be, without boundaries dictating her.

_You have that chance now,_ her mind whispered. She could leave for Amroth's domain today if she chose. Or brave the month-long trek all the way back to Celebrían. Or return to Beorn. Her hands splashed the water as if swatting the ideas away. She'd never make it alive. Not with spiders and orcs and who-knew-what-else chasing after her for some power she didn't know how to use.

That seemed like the path to follow for now. She'd focus on figuring out her necklace and decide where she wanted to go from there. In the meantime, she would discover her place among the elves. Whatever she had thought existed between her and Thranduil could wait. Her mother died a month ago, and Charlotte had shifted into a new world with strangers. This wasn't the time for more life decisions.

She sighed, stepping out of the tepid water, hoping to leave behind the thoughts she didn't want to hear: she had at least wanted to try to have something more with him.

Dried and armored in one of Celebrían's borrowed gowns, a gauzy forest green dress with beads climbing the skirt like vines, she swept into the dining room, chin high, guards on each side of her. She was grateful that she'd taken such care with her appearance when she spotted Lothuial seated beside Thranduil, both so immersed in conversation that they didn't glance up when she took a seat opposite.

Ignoring Thranduil was proving to be challenging already. She found herself eager to talk to him in the way they had been. She wanted to share her training with Ellavorn with him, ask him about the Marchwarden's meeting, apologize for getting short with him. She hoped he'd be willing to discuss reducing her guard detail. She was used to taking care of herself. Steeling herself, she turned to Ellavorn, whose mouth was twisted in disgust at the pair, and asked, "Could you please pass the sweet bread?"

Thranduil glanced up briefly then, his dull eyes taking in first her and then the guards stationed against the walls, and resumed his conversation.

Mentally, she tried to shrug it off. If he didn't want to be civil, it was fine with her. Ellavorn nudged her and said, "You look like an elleth for once."

"Flattering, Ellavorn. Real smooth."

"Before I forget," he reached into his tunic and pulled out two rolls of parchment. "These came by messenger bird for you."

Who would be sending her mail? She cracked open the amber blob of wax on the first, and slowly unrolled it, feeling a surprised smile steal over her face.

Sketched in perfect detail, fine lines and deep shadows bringing it to life, was a thick bumblebee atop a rose. His furry body and translucent wings leaped off the page at her, and though it wasn't signed, she knew exactly who had sent it. She ran a finger down the bee's fuzzy legs and resolved to write Beorn back as soon as possible.

The second roll was sealed with deep blue wax, imprinted with two trees tangled at the branches and roots, a single star in the center: the seal of Imladris.

Celebrían's letter was much more verbose than Beorn's. Her neat, looping handwriting filled the page, blessedly in Common Tongue. Charlotte knew she would have to add Tengwar to her list of things to learn.

_My dear new friend, _

_I hope this finds you well and safely ensconced in Eryn Galen. I find myself already missing your presence, and that of our family, here in Imladris. Elrond has agreed to arrange a visit to Eryn Galen after the spring thaw, and I hope to continue the journey south to Lórinand after. I would be exceedingly pleased should you decide to join us. My husband— oh, it is such a delight to finally write that! He will send a letter to Thranduil directly to plan the journey and issue the request. I genuinely don't know why they both bother with such formalities after millennia together as friends, but if protocol is the price we must pay to be within each other's company once more, then I shall gladly bow to it. _

_On a more troublesome note, Glorfindel has seen fewer orc patrols on the eastern plains. Skirmishes have occurred in the Misty Mountains, but the orcs vanished before we could hunt them all down. If they have a nest there, we've yet to discover it. _

_I pray to the Valar that you are well. Something is chasing you, my friend. Whatever task you have been assigned, someone does not want you to succeed. I feel it, even from here. How I wished I possessed my mother's mirror! _

_Promise me that you will be safe. Trust yourself, and though I know you do not wish to yet, trust Thranduil. He is fierce in the protection of his people, to which you are now one. I hope to find you well and at home in his domain when I visit. _

_My heart will weep until we meet again._

She'd signed her name with a flourish.

"Where could I get some parchment?" She asked Ellavorn.

He pulled his eyes from Thranduil and Lothuial. "I'll have some sent to your room today. Meluieth could show you how to use the messenger birds. She loves the ratty things, and they love her. Just let her do the attaching. They're eager to bite."

She glanced down and, sure enough, his hand was littered with thin red slashes. "I was hoping to visit her later anyway. Completely unrelated question, but which one of those doors leads to the kitchen?"

He pointed to the farthest door on the right, and before he could ask why, she was on her feet. The soft steps behind her reminded her of her two shadows, and she clutched her letters a little tighter, like talismans against another surge of pique.

The kitchen was surprisingly cool when she entered. Windows had been thrown open to allow the breeze to whip through the room, and a handful of elves flitted from one table to another, preparing to serve dinner in a few hours. It was synchronized chaos, a well-practiced dance of flames and knives and brightly colored vegetables. At the center of this culinary ballet was a short elleth, her hair braided like a coronet, elbow-deep in a puffy dough.

"Can I help you, my lady?" She said when she spotted Charlotte standing on the threshold of her domain. She wiped her hands with a linen towel and eyed her warily.

Maybe she shouldn't have come here. But she really wanted to do something to thank Meluieth. "I was hoping I might be able to exchange some work for a few sweet buns?"

The elleth dropped her towel on the table and crossed her arms. Her eyes took in Charlotte's fancy dress and hair. "You want to work? In exchange for sweet buns?" She said slowly.

"Please," Charlotte said. "I can wash the dishes or help wherever you send me." She didn't want to steal the sweet buns, especially after everything these elves had done for her. And she definitely didn't want to sit around all day with nothing but her thoughts when she could be useful.

The cook was still sizing her up, her ageless eyes flickering to the two guards shifting behind her. "Very well, my lady. You can start by cleaning the seeds from those pumpkins over there."

Clearly, it was a test to see if she'd balk at the slimy innards with her dress. Poor elleth didn't know her family used to carve them for fun for Halloween every year.

Charlotte took her place at the table groaning under the weight of the bulbous orange vegetables and eagerly set to work.

"The king is not going to like this," she heard Haedirn say to Maethor. She sniffed. Thranduil was not her keeper.

Maethor apparently agreed. His rough voice said, "I don't think he'll have a choice."

Charlotte smiled with victory as she popped the top of the pumpkin off and scraped out the gunk and the seeds. She separated the seeds out and carefully rinsed the strands of pumpkin from them and set them aside.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the elleth's lips twitch in delight and surprise before she turned back to her bread. Charlotte let herself get lost in the rhythm of cleaning pumpkins and not once thought of a certain blond-haired commanding Elvenking.

Two hours later, Charlotte stood back to admire the rows of gutted pumpkins and her neat pile of glossy white seeds. She'd have to see if Legolas wanted to learn how to carve jack-o'-lanterns next year. Her brow furrowed. Would she still be here next year?

The cook came around to inspect her work and was delighted and confused. "You've tossed out the innards well enough, but why did you keep the seeds?"

"They're delicious roasted. Or raw. You could plant them, of course. Seemed a waste to throw them away," she shrugged as if she didn't care what happened to the seeds she'd painstakingly pulled out.

"Hmph." Cook seemed to be tossing around ideas before she said, "Well, you've certainly earned your sweet rolls. Come over here, and we'll pack you some of the warm ones."

"She'll be so excited. Thank you for letting me do this." Her feet ached, and she smelled like pumpkin, but it would be worth it.

"These aren't for you?" The elleth asked. She plucked a woven basket and stretched a linen towel across its bottom.

"They're for a... friend." Meluieth was a friend, right? Not just a maid who stuck around because she had to?

"These wouldn't be for Meluieth, would they?"

Too late, Charlotte remembered that Meluieth and the cook weren't on good terms at present, and she wondered if the elleth would rescind the bargain for sweet rolls.

"I just want a chance to thank her for everything she's done for me. Please. She loves these."

The cook humphed and narrowed her eyes. "You want to thank her? For doing her job?"

What was with all the reminders today that she was just another responsibility to these people? First Thranduil, and now this elleth was implying the same about Meluieth. She felt her shoulders sag, and settled on saying, "Just because it's her job, doesn't mean I can't show my appreciation for her work."

"Indeed," she said, though there was something warm to her tone. She started filling the basket again. "After all that work, you want nothing for yourself? You're not at all what I was expecting if you don't mind me staying so, my lady."

Charlotte was sure this elleth would've said it whether she minded or not. "I'm covered up to my elbows in pumpkin guts. I think it's safe for you to call me Charlotte."

The cook nodded thoughtfully. "I am Idhrenes."

"Thank you, Idhrenes, for the sweet rolls." Charlotte turned to her two guards waiting for her by the door.

"You are welcome in my kitchen anytime, Charlotte _Annuiel_," Idhrenes said, and it sounded as much like a proclamation as any of Thranduil's orders.

Meluieth screamed with glee when Charlotte gave her the basket of rolls.

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Clarification: The sweet bread Legolas is in love with is literally just bread that is sweet. :) Not to be confused with sweetbread, a dish of cooked thymus or pancreas from a calf or lamb.

AN: Posting early because today has been rough, and hopefully a new chapter brightens someone's day. Thank you all for the lovely reviews and feedback! Seriously, from your guesses, to the moments you loved, to the ways you've connected to this story: I love reading all of them. Thank you for being on this journey with both these characters and myself!


	21. Wandering Minds

Meluieth stretched out on her bed and groaned, a half-eaten roll clutched in her fingers, while Charlotte stared out the window at the training field.

She knew the blond ellon whirling across the dirt, locked in an aggressive battle with an ellon who was clearly Ellavorn. Meluieth's single-room home overlooked the training grounds and edged against the fence, and it was proving to be the worst place to seek a distraction from the conundrum that was Thranduil.

"I'm caught between thanking you and wondering why you would punish me so?" Meluieth said to Charlotte, eyeing the basket still half-filled with rolls.

"Next time, I promise I won't bring so many."

"Now, that would be a punishment!" Meluieth pulled herself upright and eyed the roll in her hand before sighing longingly and wrapping it up.

"Look on the bright side: you'll have rolls for tomorrow."

"Yes, but they won't be warm and fluffy and fresh."

"Just how many sweet rolls did you 'liberate' from Idhrenes?"

"I can't quite remember. I counted to five, and after that, it was a blur." Meluieth waved her arm dismissively. "What I want to know is how you managed to convince the old dragon to let you have them?"

Outside the window, Thranduil whirled under Ellavorn's blade, his long hair fanning out behind him. It seemed such a hazard to her, having long loose hair in battle. The orc had captured her by seizing her hair. Ellavorn could just as easily grab Thranduil's and yank it to throw him off.

"Charlotte?"

"Hmm?"

Suddenly, Meluieth was over her shoulder, staring out the window to see what had caught her attention. "Ah," she said.

Charlotte did not want to talk about her fight with Thranduil, so instead, she said, "I got a letter from Celebrían today. Lord Elrond is planning to arrange a visit to _Eryn Galen _with Thranduil. It looks like you might not have to wait an entire year to finish your healer training."

"That's wonderful," Meluieth said, but she looked a little pale. She tucked the linen carefully back over the basket of bread and fingered the handle.

Charlotte quirked a brow at that but decided not to pry. Not when Meluieth had always been so considerate about giving her space to deal with her thoughts. "It's not definite. Anyway, will you be going with us tomorrow?"

"I honestly don't know. I haven't heard whether I'm to be sent with you or not. I would think as your lady's maid that I would attend, but I've received no orders. It may just be you, Thranduil, and Legolas."

"Not to mention, my two new shadows." And then slightly louder, Charlotte said, "No offense!" She heard a snort through the door and grinned. They had followed her to Meluieth's house and stationed themselves outside with practiced ease. It seemed like a terrible way to advertise her location to everyone in the village, including the elves who were supposedly a danger to her. Regardless, Charlotte had gifted each of them with a sweet roll before she delivered the basket to Meluieth.

She watched Thranduil yank his robe off, tossing it carelessly to the side, before throwing his sword up just in time to catch Ellavorn's attack.

Meluieth tsked, "If he tears another tunic, he's going to send Galion into fits."

Both ellon stopped fighting, turning as if listening to something approaching, and Charlotte said, "I get the feeling that won't be a problem today."

There was a banging on Meluieth's door, and it burst open before she could get to it. Maethor and Haedirn surged in first, heading straight for Charlotte. They stood directly in front of her, two great pillars of muscle decorated in daggers and swords. There was a wailing sound behind them, and two ellons stumbled into Meluieth's tiny home, dragging a third shouting ellon between them.

The wailing came from the last intruder: a dainty elleth who rushed to Meluieth and begged her, "Please, I cannot help him. At first, he slept, and I could not wake him, and now his mind is gone! He is hallucinating, eating dirt and leaves, and claiming he sees a feast. He's talking to his adar as if he lives. He insisted he was with the Elvenking. Please, you must help him."

Meluieth was already examining her patient, who was thrashing in the arms of his fellows. "Has he eaten anything?"

"My husband knows the forest, and he would never eat something he should not," the elleth insisted.

"Release me," the ellon barked, kicking his legs and yanking his arms. "Adar, stop them! I was having the most wonderful dream, and they awoke me. The Elvenking; I must see him. Set me free, I tell you!"

"We'll take you to see the Elvenking, _mellon nin_," Meluieth assured.

"You will?"

"I promise you will see him. Let me just examine you first."

The ellon settled, but the assembled elves were horrified when he picked up Meluieth's blanket and chewed on the corner. "It's true what they say," he mumbled around the linen. "The Elvenking's table hosts a magnificent spread. The most delicious venison I've ever had."

Charlotte had enough watching. She shoved through her guards, snagged a sweet roll, and gently said, "Here, try this. Isn't it even better than the venison?"

The ellon dropped the blanket and seized the roll, nibbling on the end and repeatedly declaring that it _was_ even better than the venison. Charlotte scooped up the sheet and tossed it into the chair to keep him from eating it again. Her guards tried to bundle her away, but her glare stopped them.

"How long has he been like this?" Meluieth asked the crying elleth. Methodically, she checked the ellon's pupils, followed by his heart rate, temperature, and the inside of his mouth. Charlotte could tell that her friend was stumped.

"Like this? Maybe for an hour?" The elleth said, wringing her hands. "But he slept most of yesterday. I don't understand. He just dropped suddenly and wouldn't wake. We dragged him home to see the healer, but they found nothing to explain it. No bites. No hives or swelling. He just slept. When he started hallucinating and mentioning the Elvenking, we brought him here, but he fought us the whole way. He—" her voice broke on a sob, "he doesn't remember any of us."

Thranduil and Ellavorn swept in next, followed by an ellon who looked nearly identical to Meluieth: Galion.

The ill ellon leaped from the bed and tried to reach for Thranduil, but Ellavorn stepped in his path.

"My king!" The ellon cried. "My king, I've searched for you."

Thranduil, to his credit, didn't balk. He nudged Ellavorn aside and gently took the ellon's hand, noting the wild eyes and crazed smile that showed he was not wholly present. "You've done well, _mellon nin_. Rest now. You have found me."

"I found you," he murmured, settling.

Meluieth filled them in quickly, adding, "There's nothing to suggest poison and there is no known venom that affects us, save for the spiders we've encountered, and his symptoms don't match for that either."

The room was crowded and warm. Charlotte reached back to open the window she'd been watching Thranduil through only minutes ago.

"Where were you when this started?" Thranduil asked the crying elleth. "What were you doing?"

"We were having a picnic, Your Majesty," she sniffled. "By the Tithenduin. We'd just exchanged betrothal rings, and then he collapsed."

"Can you remember exactly where?"

"No more than a day's ride north," her twisting hands shifted, and Charlotte spotted the slim silver ring on her index finger. A matching one adorned the ellon's hand.

"Ellavorn, prepare our horses," Thranduil said. "You and I will inspect the area along the Tithenduin for the source of this ailment." He surged to his feet and was halfway across the room before the ellon was shouting again.

"My king! My king, please!" He lunged at Thranduil, and the ellons who'd dragged him to Meluieth's jumped to seize him. The crazed ellon thrashed in their hold, begging for Thranduil.

Charlotte's heart was twisting at his cries, at the pained look on Thranduil's face, the sobs of the ellon's newly betrothed. She didn't notice the heat on her chest until the light from the necklace filled the room, and the ellon collapsed, silent.

"What did you do to him?" The elleth panicked.

Maethor and Haedirn yanked Charlotte behind them, and Meluieth checked over the ellon again.

"He's only resting," she said with a tired sigh. "We'll have to wait and see how he is when he wakes."

"Maybe not," Thranduil said, eying Charlotte. "You soothed him and put him to sleep, maybe you can heal him as well."

The elleth eyed her suspiciously. "Hethuon wouldn't like some outsider working magic on him."

"It might be the only way to bring him back," Thranduil said softly.

The elleth frowned, quietly debating. Charlotte knew the moment she decided because she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and said, "Very well."

Charlotte was suddenly being nudged forward, and she felt her own panic rise. She had no idea what she was doing! No idea how the necklace even worked. She only kept it on because her mother had given it to her, and it had helped Legolas so many times.

Now she was supposed to use it intentionally? She thought back to her moment of decision while she'd bathed that morning. When she'd decided she would focus on figuring out this strange power, she'd never realized she would be forced into hands-on practice so soon.

She sat beside the sleeping ellon, under the watchful glare of his betrothed, wondering where she was supposed to start.

Her body flinched when Thranduil dropped a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Try sinking first, see if that helps you tap into it."

"She hasn't done this before?" The elleth cried.

"Patience," Thranduil said. "Give her a chance."

But Charlotte couldn't focus with everyone staring at her, couldn't get herself to relax and drop into that beneath-place where her fëa rested. She peeked an eye open, "Does everyone need to be here right now?"

The elves were in upheaval: Ellavorn insisted he would not be leaving Thranduil's side, and Thranduil wasn't moving. Maethor and Haedirn swore they wouldn't budge from her sight either, and the list went on and on.

"Fine," she sighed, defeated. "At least try to be quiet, so I concentrate."

She let her eyes drift shut. Felt her body still. One of the ellons shifted their weight. Meluieth scuffed her boot. Charlotte's body tense.

_Breathe, relax, drop_, she thought. She could do this. Her mind sank, lower and lower until she finally had her light in her hands, and then she was hauling it up to the surface. She opened her eyes. The whole room glittered so brightly the elves were squinting. All of them, save for Thranduil, who watched her with a look she could only describe as reverence.

The necklace remained asleep, as did the ellon.

Her light faltered, but Thranduil said, "Focus on the stone. Think about what you want it to do."

She concentrated. Pictured the ellon awake and healthy. Imagined him embracing his betrothed.

Nothing.

She tried again. Visualized the elf's eyes fluttering open, calm and lucid. They remained unnaturally closed.

"We'll keep trying," Thranduil assured her. "Something activates it. We just need to figure it out." He turned to Galion, "Please see to it that they are all given lodgings here, and let's move this ellon to the healing house. Ellavorn, arrange a patrol. I want a search done of the area. See if they can find the source of this."

Breakfast was subdued the following morning when Charlotte and Ellavorn arrived after their early training session. Even Legolas picked up on the concern rolling through the elves silently assembled at the table.

"Adar, are we still going north today?" He asked.

"We will have to wait, _ion nin_," Thranduil said. He gently placed his utensils and turned to Legolas. "An elf arrived last night. He's very sick, and we must help him before we can take our journey together."

"Well," Legolas scrunched his brow in thought. "I could help. I can go with Meluieth and help her with her herbs. Naneth taught me some of them. Mostly which ones not to eat, but I can learn more."

"No," Thranduil ordered, and then softened his voice. "No, you must stay away from the healing house. We do not know what has caused this. I will not see you hurt."

"But I can help!"

"I know you can," Thranduil reassured him. "I promise you, if there is a way you can assist, I will tell you. Now, why don't you go practice your archery?"

Legolas reluctantly scampered out, and she prayed he'd listen to Thranduil and stay out of the healing house. Her heart had stopped at the mental image of sweet Legolas hallucinating like Hethuon, calling out for his naneth. She would sooner be poisoned herself than see him crying for a naneth who wouldn't come. Not again.

Once he was gone, Charlotte asked Ellavorn, "The patrol didn't discover the source then?"

Ellavorn was somber, serious in a way he rarely was. "The patrol never came back."

"Do not give up hope yet," Thranduil said. There was a tension in his eyes. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "We'll give them a few hours to return. They may have found a trail or searched further north than planned."

The rest of the day was filled with nervous energy. She found herself in Idhrenes's kitchen again, and the elleth took one look at Charlotte's anxious expression and pointed to the same table she'd used to clean pumpkins. This time, there were three wooden buckets filled with bright red apples.

"I need someone to peel those." Idhrenes didn't say why or what they were for, and Charlotte didn't care. It was something productive to do.

She spent hours in the kitchen, letting the chatter and activity roll over her quiet corner. There was no word about the patrol and no update about Hethuon. She ate a small meal in the kitchen between peeling buckets of apples and even coaxed a reluctant Maethor and Haedirn to join her. "I'm sure you can both eat and guard me. Honestly, when do you two take breaks?"

"For now, only while you're sleeping," Haedirn shrugged and bit into one of the meat pies Idhrenes had served for lunch. "You sleep more than any elf I've met."

Maethor nudged him, "Try not to announce her guard rotation to all of Arda."

They both jumped to their feet, hands on their daggers when the kitchen door flung open and cracked against the wall. A harried Meluieth stood in the opening, searching the elves until her eyes settled on Charlotte. "We need you in the healing house. Come quickly."

Charlotte dropped her paring knife and was hurrying across the field in Meluieth's shadow before she could even ask what was wrong. Her hands fisted in her skirts to keep her from tripping, and her mind raced over the possibilities. Why would they need her?

The healing house was on the western border of the settlement. Isolated from the other homes, it stood under the arching forest canopy, its creaking wooden steps lit by the late afternoon sun.

The inside was sparse: two orderly rows of beds, one on each wall, ran from the front of the house to the back. A door on the left appeared to open into a supply closet, and beside it was a small bathing room, the wooden tub just visible through the crack of the door. On the nearest bed, Hethuon still rested with his eyes closed, looking for all the world like he hadn't moved a single inch since she'd knocked him out the night before. A breathing statue, he was the least of her worries.

On separate beds, three elves rocked and rambled.

"The Elvenking," one said, over and over. "I must find the Elvenking."

"Nana, the stars weep," another whispered, his eyes wild and glazed, "Do you see them?"

A group of sane ellons stood nearby, poised as if to catch their crazed counterparts should they try to run.

"They were found this morning, and they've only gotten worse since. I've tried everything. At this point, we need you to make them sleep," Meluieth said.

"All of them?" Charlotte's eyes went wide. She'd never intentionally put an elf to sleep, and the one she knocked out on accident was still sleeping. "I don't know if I can, and, even if I could, what if I can't wake them?"

"They're hurting themselves with these hallucinations," Meluieth gently squeezed her arm. "We've tried sleeping concoctions, and they wear off quickly. Whatever this is, it has a stronger hold than any of the herbs or medicines I possess."

The sick elves rocked on their beds. The third one was chewing on air, his hands hovering in front of him as if he held a loaf of bread. There was anxiety in their companions' eyes. The six ellons who crowded the corner of the room were narrow-eyed and fidgeting. As she watched, one reached up to rub his eyes, as if he were terrified of blinking.

Thranduil had a muscle in his jaw clenched. He was so protective of his people, and the best he could offer them at the moment was essentially a magically-induced coma. Which brought other concerns to the front of her mind.

"How will you feed them?" Charlotte asked. "What if their organs start to fail? Or they stop breathing?"

"I can take care of feeding them," Meluieth reassured her. "We've already successfully fed Hethuon this morning. I can handle figuring out care for them, but right now, we're out of options to protect them without restraining them, and in their state, I worry what it will do to them."

As if to prove her point, the "eating" ellon reached the end of his imaginary snack and chewed on his fingers instead. Two of the elves leaped to pull his hand from his mouth, and he shouted at them, "Release me!" He thrashed and flailed until the ellons holding him had no choice but to allow him to chew his hand. Meluieth gently coaxed him to trade the fingers for one of the few remaining sweet rolls Charlotte had gifted her.

The ellons who'd no doubt dragged these crazed elves to the healing house seemed to be sagging against each other. Defeat and concern warred on their features. How long had these elves been sick before their fellows dragged them to Meluieth? The group looked so tired. One swayed on his feet before he straightened, blinking as if to clear his eyes.

They couldn't go on like this. She steeled herself, tucking away her worries and concerns until only laser-sharp focus remained. There was no place for emotions here, not when these elves needed her to figure out the necklace.

Charlotte slowly approached the ellon who thought he was speaking to his naneth. She froze when his wild eyes darted up to meet hers, and for a moment she thought he was lucid, until he said, "The stars, Nana. Do you see them? They weep, Nana. They weep."

"I see them," Charlotte said softly, trying to keep the concern and anxiety buried. "Would you like to see more?"

The elf nodded erratically, and she settled beside him. His clothes were damp, and he'd dripped onto the sheet covering the bed. She felt the cold moisture against her leg as she sank into her fëa, pulling it up until it illuminated the room. Meluieth was right, each time she did it, she grew faster. Where it felt like a struggle before, now it was a matter of moments before she raised the blue-white light to the surface of her skin.

"Nana," he said awed. He stretched out to grab her, and Thranduil gently nudged his arm away. At some point, during the search for her fëa, the Elvenking had stationed himself beside her.

She tried to shove her fëa through the necklace. Imagined the ellon tired, his eyes slowly drifting closed, restful and content. Her brow knotted, and she frowned. Sleep. Peace. Her invisible hands pushed her fëa toward him. _Sleep, _she thought. _Rest and fall asleep. _Nothing. He was still awake, wild-eyed and crazed, staring happily at her fëa. At least he was calm.

She sat there for what felt like hours, trying to coax the necklace to activate, growing more frustrated with every passing heartbeat. Eventually, Thranduil intervened.

"Enough," he said, his warm hand settling on her shoulder. "Wearing yourself out will not help them."

She never felt so much like a failure as she did at that moment. Four sick elves and she could do nothing to help them. Why did she even come here?

Meluieth sighed, her shoulders collapsing under the weight of her next words. "We'll have to restrain them then."

"I'm so sorry," Charlotte whispered. She wanted to rip the necklace off and hurl it across the room. She should never have been chosen for this supposed Valar-ordained task. Whatever it was. She couldn't save her own mother, and she'd had the necklace then.

Her feet were wobbly under her, and she was almost to the door when one of the ellons standing in the cornered group, mumbled, "I feel unwell." She turned just in time to see him smash into the floor with a _thunk! _None of the others had moved to catch him, and it quickly became apparent why.

It was like dominos.

One-by-one, the remaining five ellons collapsed until they were a heap on the wood floor. Eyes closed and still as death. Meluieth kneeled beside them, running her hands over their faces, lifting their eyelids, checking for pulses.

"They're all asleep." Her wide eyes turned to Charlotte, worry etched in the twist of her mouth. "Did you put them to sleep?" It sounded hopeful, pleading.

"I don't think so," Charlotte said. "I wasn't focused on them at all, and I didn't feel the necklace warm."

Thranduil paced between the beds, his cloak swirling around his feet. Charlotte tracked him with her eyes and resisted the urge to comfort him. Finally, he looked to Ellavorn and said, "I want guards assigned to this house. Have them move these ellons into beds. Guard Legolas. He is not to eat or drink anything without your permission. Charlotte and I will check the Tithenduin with Maethor and Haedirn."

Ellavorn followed them out of the house and down the stairs. "You mean to ride out now?" He eyed the fading sun. "Would it not be better to wait until morning?"

"Those elves will likely wake by then, and Meluieth will be overrun with mad elves," Thranduil explained. "We need to find the missing patrol as well. They have been gone far too long without checking in with one of the posts. I want the village sealed. No one leaves."

"I'll have your horses and packs prepared," Ellavorn said, and Charlotte watched him disappear up the hill to the stone house.

Charlotte left to hunt down Berior, wondering why they were bringing her along when she was so far proving useless.

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AN: Another early post. Thank you for the kind comments; they brightened my day! I can't wait to hear your thoughts!


	22. Lost and Found

The leaves crunched under Thranduil's boots as he slid from Belegroch's saddle. He turned to Maethor and Haedirn, astride their chestnut stallions, and said, "Charlotte and I will search north of here. You two spread out and check the south and east. If you come across any patrols, set them to searching as well."

And then he descended the steep bank to the river without waiting for an acknowledgment of his order. Haedirn nodded once to her, and both ellons urged their mounts further into the forest, leaving her still atop Berior while Thranduil slid the final foot down the bank. She scrambled after him.

"Wait up!" she called as her feet tried to steady on the slope. The grass was invisible under a thick blanket of pale chartreuse leaves, dropped from the thin gray boughs that surrounded her, and her boots slid and her arms flailed as she stumbled down the bank. She prayed she wouldn't fall into the river.

They had little time to find the missing patrol and the cause of the sudden illness spreading throughout the elves. Already, the sun sank below the treetops in the west, leaving only a hazy golden glow filtering through the pines and beeches. The forest was not a place she wanted to be at night, not with just the two of them and spiders roaming about. She had resumed her training with Ellavorn, but still wouldn't likely be of any real help to Thranduil should they be swarmed by the beasts.

Thranduil had stopped a few feet up the bank, his boots shifting through the decaying leaves before he set off again. She'd seen so many sides to him, had known that deep down he was lethal, but watching him stalk the river's edge, his hands reading the clues of the forest, leaping gracefully over lichen-covered boulders, he was primal, as much a part of the forest as the trees. Only the hilts of his twin swords shining over his shoulders and the daggers hanging at his waist kept him from thoroughly blending into the forest around him.

"How will we know what to look for?" She asked him, her eyes darting over the ground in search of anything that looked like it didn't belong.

"You won't," he said.

"So, I'm here because…"

"You're here for when it's too dark to search anymore. Your light and mine should help us keep looking."

She lurched to a stop, and her shoulders caved. Had she become that utterly useless to him that she was only good for an extra bit of twinkly light? "You brought me here so I could be your human flashlight?"

"I don't know what a flashlight is."

"Like a portable flameless torch. It casts a beam of light out so you can see things in the dark."

Her quiet words barely reached him over the gurgling river, but he answered, calling over his shoulder, "Then yes, tonight you're our _elven_ flashlight."

She smoothed the end of a curl between her fingers and trudged after him, glancing up once to see that Berior and Belegroch followed them on the high embankment. Berior's eyes met hers, and he jerked his nose forward as if to say he would follow her all night.

And she would hunt with Thranduil all night until they found the missing elves or the root of the illness plaguing them. She'd failed to heal the elves. Thranduil and his people had guarded her for a month, trusting that she would somehow provide them aid from the darkness that hunted them, and she'd let them down at the first opportunity to prove herself. They'd faced orcs and spiders because of her, and now she couldn't save them. The best she could offer them was a little extra light while they fought to protect themselves.

She tried to shake off the despondency stealing through her body. A flashlight was at least of some help, and maybe the necklace didn't heal at all. The elven leaders had been guessing, based on a handful of supposed signs, that she was some Valar-sent hero destined to save the Greenwood, and she'd let sentiment, affection for the elves she was slowly beginning to feel at home with, convince her to do this before she hunted for a way home. Maybe the necklace just soothed people. Legolas hadn't been sick when it was used on him, and though he had fallen asleep one of those times, that could've been due to how upset he had been. Thranduil might be overestimating its power.

But Hethuon had yet to wake, and he was not asleep naturally.

"Won't Maethor and Haedirn need the extra light?" she asked, more to distract herself from her thoughts than anything else.

Thranduil snorted, "Maethor is the best tracker in the Woodland Realm. If there's an elf who can find our missing patrol, it's him, and he'll need no extra light to do it."

They walked for an hour, following the river north and growing more disheartened with every step. The banks grew shallow until they were level with the water and forest. When the sun vanished and the night sky swept away its last vestiges of light, Charlotte pulled her fëa to the surface, shoving as much power into it as possible.

"Easy," Thranduil said, finally turning toward her. Worry etched in the lines of his face, and his eyes were bleak. "You'll exhaust yourself putting that much energy out. Even I can tell you're forcing it. Let your fëa shine without your help. Besides, you're a beacon right now; a light this bright will attract creatures we do not want finding us." He sighed and turned his gaze across the river, his silver eyes glittering in her light as they searched the trees. "We can only hope—" his mouth snapped closed. His thick brows knotted over his narrowed eyes. "Shine brighter."

She didn't hesitate, burning brighter until her light illuminated the river and the opposite bank.

"There," he pointed to the thick bushes on the other side of the river. Her eyesight was not as good as his, but she could see what had caught his attention. Just under the glossy leaves, a single brown boot stuck out.

"Can you swim?" Thranduil asked, eying the river. There were thick boulders covered in lichen buried in the riverbed, their tips peeking out like icebergs, but they were too far apart and slippery to use as a bridge. "If not, there's a crossing further up."

She could see the concern in his eyes, hear it in his voice, at the idea of leaving her to travel the forest alone. It had been years since she'd been swimming anywhere, but she nodded and said, "I can swim."

Thranduil didn't wait. He strode into the river, boots splashing water as he waded in, and Charlotte straightened her shoulders and followed.

Her boots sunk in the riverbed, kicking up silt, and the chilled water quickly seeped through her leggings, up over her hips and belly, until eventually only her head and shoulders poked out. The river frothed in white crests as it burst over the boulders, and her light illuminated the water around her. She jerked as something slid between her calves, and then another whirled around her ankle. Dozens of sleek, silver fish, narrow in their bodies with bulbous amber eyes, flocked to her light until each step required her to shove them aside.

Her body tensed. Thranduil was halfway across the river already, and she needed to catch up. Her first strokes led to her drinking river water as her hands and arms and legs slid along the slippery fish, and she reflexively yanked away from their scaly bodies.

"Get a grip," she told herself. She probably looked comical with the hoard of silver fish around her. She pushed through them, watching them dart around her body as she slowly cut through the water.

There was a splashing sound behind her, and she turned to see Berior making his way into the river. His sound and movement frenzied the cloud of fish, and she figured that was her best chance, so she dove forward, her arms reaching ahead of her to propel her body. She fought to ignore the shiver of scales looping around her.

Thranduil had managed to reach the opposite bank, but something was off about him. He wobbled as he rose from the river, water streaming from his clothes and hair. He teetered. His feet stumbled as he trudged up the bank. A hand rubbed his face, and he shook his head as if to clear it. "Something…" he muttered. "Charlotte!" He spun, narrowly catching himself as he tilted. His eyelids fluttered. "It's not right," he slurred and toppled face-first near the river's edge.

Her heart pounded, and she cried out, "Thranduil!"

Berior was splashing frantically behind her as he tried to catch up. Charlotte smacked and kicked at the fish with each stroke, her movements sloppy and desperate, trying to get to Thranduil. She could see his silver hair fanned out beside the river, his mouth and nose inches from the water. Any closer and he would've drowned before she could help him. Crawling from the river, her sodden clothes weighing her down, she reached his side and rolled him over.

His wet hair clung to his face, and his eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell in even breaths. As if…

Her blood froze. She shook him. "Thranduil?" No movement. She shook him again, but he didn't budge. His eyes moved beneath his lids, but his face remained blank, expressionless.

Asleep.

Charlotte ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at the ends, and tried to control her breathing. She needed to think. They were in the forest, virtually alone save for Berior swimming across the river and Belegroch on the opposite bank. Thranduil was the expert in this domain, and now the roles had switched, and she, an elleth unfamiliar with the forest and its denizens, was supposed to keep him safe. She was the last elf in existence who should be in charge of his safety. Her fledgling skills were insufficient to even keep up with an elfling.

She shouted to Belegroch across the river, praying he was well trained enough to get her meaning. "Run for help!" She yelled, and for a moment, she thought he may have understood her. Until he walked to the river's edge. "No!" The horse froze, inches from the water. It had to be something, a creature living in the river's depths, that caused the elves to sicken, caused Thranduil to fall. "We need help. Find Maethor or Haedirn."

The horse remained still, and Charlotte's body caved. He couldn't understand her. She needed a new plan.

She heard Berior keening from the river and turned to see him calling to Belegroch. The horse's ears twitched, and he stamped. Berior cried out again, and the horse stamped once, turned his head toward the trees, and galloped out of sight.

"Thank the Valar for Berior," she said, invoking the elven gods, praying that somehow Berior had gotten Belegroch to search for aid.

The elk was stumbling from the water, heading straight for them, when she noticed his antlers swaying. Her eyes widened, "Please, not you too." Berior wobbled, his left leg bent at the knee and didn't straighten. His body followed and crashed to the forest floor, steps before her, and his eyes closed.

Charlotte's hands were shaking, and her mind flew over the situation. Berior was out cold, Thranduil was asleep in the dirt, and there was no definite way to call for help. They never should have tried to swim the river, but they hadn't known, never would have guessed that the river held the cause of the elven illness. Plus, there had been the missing elves to think of. Her brain froze, stuttering, before it kicked over again, and she was scrambling up the grass, dripping wet, searching the bushes in her fading light for the boot they'd seen.

She rifled through the branches, catching her skin and clothes on the thorns and brambles until her hands settled on soft leather. Her fingers flew up the curve of the boot, up the tight laces until she found a leg swathed in chilled leggings. Her arms shoved through the leaves, ignoring the pain and scratches as she ripped the branches apart.

Six elves.

Six living, breathing, sleeping elves were piled in the undergrowth, the bushes like a small hut, covering them from the outside world. One ellon had turned, much like Thranduil, to face the river, his arm still extended as if to warn the others about the threat.

Her breath shook in her lungs. Six guards, Thranduil, and a massive elk. All unconscious. They were lucky she wasn't asleep. That made her pause, and panic bubbled up her throat. Why wasn't she sleeping? Would she collapse soon too? All of them would be stranded together within easy reach of the creatures of the forest. The spiders could pick them off without a struggle.

She rushed back to Thranduil, unattended on the bank, and grabbed him under the arms, dragging him toward the bushes. It was the safest place she had right now, and she refused to leave him in the open. She grunted as she tugged him, sweat mixing with the river water still clinging to her skin. She didn't know how she was going to move Berior, and there was no easy way to hide him.

Maethor and Haedirn would find her eventually. Thranduil had said Maethor was an excellent tracker. He would worry when they failed to check in, and he would hunt them down. She would just have to guard them all until then. She eyed Thranduil's arsenal strapped to his body, before rolling him on his side to pull one of the swords free. It was heavy in her hands, but she needed something that would give her more distance than her dagger. She hoped she wouldn't have to use either.

She did try to drag Berior closer to their hideaway, but for all her tugging and yanking, he didn't move an inch. The best she could do was sit at the entrance between the bushes, with her eyes monitoring Berior and her back to the sleeping elves. It served an added bonus of allowing her to search the trees across the river for Maethor and Haedirn.

The night wore on slowly, hours passing in the dark. She'd shadowed her fëa light, remembering Thranduil's warning about attracting creatures, and periodically checked over the seven ellons stacked behind her. Every crack and rustle made her tense, and as the moon tracked over the sky, she fought to keep her eyes open. Staring into the trees was hardly engaging her brain.

When the moon reached its peak, there was a groan behind her, and she turned to find one of the guards sitting up, his hand rubbing his face. "Naneth?" he asked. His eyes were wild, possessed with the same crazed look as the others. He reached for her, "I thought you sailed west. My heart sings to have you returned."

Charlotte backed away, trying to soothe him and stay out of his grasp. "I'm not your naneth," she said gently. But then there was more movement, more groans and murmurs, and the other elves began to shift. Thranduil remained dead asleep.

The elves crawled toward her, hands reaching, all talking at the same time. They called out for loved ones, three of them were sobbing, their fingers grasping her tunic, her legs, her hair. Her stomach wrenched, bile rose in her throat, and she twisted and shoved, trying to dislodge them without hurting them. "Let me go," she begged, trying to pry their fingers loose.

She tried burning her fëa brighter, hoping that it would soothe them as it had Hethuon, and one by one, they released her, eyes widening as they studied her fëa.

"The stars weep, Adar," one said. "Do you see?"

"Meleth nin," sobbed another, and the rest was lost to her under the cries of the third.

Agony traced down their cheeks, and she could see their fëar dimming beneath their skin, fading as if they would extinguish. Heat bloomed on her chest. What would happen if their fëar snuffed out? She had to stop this somehow, this grief would consume them. If only she could put them to sleep as she had Hethuon.

There was a sudden silence, and heat flared across her collarbones. Too late, she realized that she'd somehow finally activated the necklace, and the elves swayed, their eyes drooping closed before they fell back into the leaves and dirt.

Relief coursed through her, and she sighed. "Good to know you actually work," she said to the necklace. It glittered against her glowing skin. If she wasn't tired before, she was after that. Her own eyelids were heavy, and she crashed beside the heap of elves.

The sound of gasping woke her, and she blinked against the sunlight creeping in through the branches. She was instantly alert when she saw Thranduil rocking back and forth, tears pouring from his silver eyes.

"Thranduil?" she nudged him, and his glassy eyes rose to meet hers. He was blessedly more alert than the others had been, though his chest rose and fell as if he struggled to breathe.

She was wary as she reached for him. "It's Charlotte," she said gently, in the same way she'd always tried and failed to nudge her mother's memory.

"There's so much pain," he said, rubbing his chest. "So much pain. Take it from me, I beg you. Adar, why did you leave me? I cannot live like this, not with the grief of your loss and the agony of parting from Legolas. Let Mandos claim me. There is no Doom he could utter worse than that which I now face."

Her head whipped around when the bushes started to shake and rustle, and Berior stuck his wet nose in, jerking the leaves with his enormous antlers. He thrust his body as far in as he could, his face pressing against Thranduil as he keened.

"Berior, no," She cried, but it was too late. The elk knotted his antlers in the branches and panicked, yanking and scrambling to set himself free. His hooves stomped and slammed the dirt, and she watched in horror as he reared back, legs grappling with the air, ready to slam down on Thranduil.

Charlotte didn't think. She dove for him, her arms wrapping around his neck, the force of her body knocking them both out of the path. "Please, wake up," she cried. Tears dripped onto his skin. She couldn't stand the grief on his face, couldn't bear seeing him injured by her own stampeding elk.

"Do not go back to that place!" he cried. He was utterly lost to her, buried in some long-ago memory. "The realm needs you. They have sealed their own fates. Our people need you. I am… I am not enough, Adar. Not enough."

Berior ripped himself from the bushes, branches falling down around her. Her arms swung over her head to protect it, while her body shielded Thranduil. Beneath her, she watched his fëa, his beautiful golden sunlight, flicker and fade.

He was dying, just as the others had started to fade away the night before. She knew it, felt it in her soul as if he were slowly slipping from her hands. Sweet, passionate, vibrant Thranduil fading away… She wouldn't allow it.

She gently clasped his face between her palms, marveling in the smooth warmth of his skin. She could do this. She thought back to his words, whispered against her ear in the darkness of night, and let herself sink into her fëa. _Please work_, she begged the necklace as she unveiled her light.

Thranduil stared at her in awe as she glowed atop him. Even Berior froze, his pupils constricting against her brilliance. "The stars weep," Thranduil whispered reverently. He ran a warm finger down the curve of her cheekbones, tracing his finger along a solitary tear.

"They weep for you," she whispered, "Come back to me, _mellon nin_."

His dimming fëa flared, just for a moment, as if remembering the nights it had cradled her own. "I cannot. There is too much. It is agony, and I want to be free of it."

She shook her head, a plea for the brave ellon she knew to return. He'd suffered enough already. The loss of his Adar, the century betrothed to Nemir, the separation from Legolas, taking care of everyone around him at the expense of himself; he would suffer no more. He had been courageous enough already. Now it was someone else's turn to care for him.

Berior nudged the back of her neck as she felt stone burning, and the light burst through all of them, banishing the shadows from their fëar. It scorched through Thranduil and Berior, slammed through the five knocked out elves on the forest floor, and flashed out through the trees. A beacon, a siren's call.

Thranduil's eyes cleared, and he took in everything quickly: her body straddled over his hips, the tears that stained both their faces, her hands pressed against his skin, and his own hand, still reaching out as if to run his finger down her cheek once more.

"The river," he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered closed. Her stomach twisted, and she thought for sure she would vomit. Shaking, she slid her hands from his face and moved to crawl off of him. His palm on her cheek stopped her. It slid along her cheekbone, brushing a lock of her hair behind her pointed ear.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely. Heartache and gratefulness melded in his eyes. "I doubt I could have withstood the pain of those years. Not again. My memories are blurred, but I know that I was fading, and you pulled me back."

There was movement around them as the elves stirred from their own magically-induced comas. She scrambled off Thranduil before the others could see them, and Thranduil must've taken the move for fear.

"Get behind me," he said, even as he struggled to lift his weary body. He wouldn't be able to take on Belegroch at the moment, let alone five trained elves.

Charlotte smiled knowingly. "I don't think that will be necessary."

The elves slowly came around, though they tried to be more alert when one of the guards noticed who was with them and said, "My King!" Followed by a hushed, "_Annuiel!"_

Watching a dazed, seated elf bow should not have made her laugh, but it did. "I don't know about you all, but my back is sore from crouching under these bushes." She was the first out, comfortable in the knowledge that all of them were, at least, cognitively present, if not healthy. Meluieth would probably still want to examine them since they'd been unconscious for so long. She needed to get all of them home, but the six elves seemed wobbly and weak, and she wasn't doing so well either.

She'd never noticed, probably because the acts had been so small, but the necklace took energy to work, and she'd just cured six grown ellons and an elk. She felt like she'd been awake for days, and her body quaked with each step. Berior looked a bit green himself, if elks could look nauseated. She patted his neck, running her fingers through his fur. It felt shorter to her like he'd shedded layers of it during his fight with the bushes.

"Lady Charlotte!" She heard and glanced over the river. Her body sagged against Berior at the sight of Maethor and Haedirn on the opposite bank. A proud Belegroch nickered behind them. Her guards started toward the river, intent on swimming across, and she panicked.

"Don't go in the water!"

They froze. Maethor had to pull back his foot to keep it from landing in the water.

"Something in there is causing the illnesses. Don't touch it," she called.

Maethor was the first to move, striding up the bank and leaping onto his horse, but it was Haedirn who cried, "Wait there. We'll ride up to the crossing and come find you."

"Any chance you could bring more horses?"

Their eyes blew wide as the five missing elves and Thranduil emerged from the bushes looking ragged. Maethor turned to Haedirn, and there was a brief discussion, drowned out by the sounds of the water. Thranduil must've been able to hear them though, for, at one point, he huffed with laughter and rolled his eyes.

Maethor nudged his horse into a trot to head upriver, and Haedirn called out, "Maethor will be there soon, I'll join you with horses as soon as I can."

As Haedirn and his horse vanished into the forest, Thranduil said, "This was a productive trip."

"How so?"

"We now know the river is causing the elves to grow sick," he tilted his chin to look at her, "and we know that you can heal them."

"And yet, the how of it remains," she said.

"We also know that you are immune to it," his eyes narrowed, his brain working over the pieces.

Charlotte yawned large enough to crack her jaw. "On that note, I'm taking a nap, and if any of you try to wake me, I will poke you with my dagger."

Thranduil laughed, the sound of an ellon who wasn't the least bit threatened by what he perceived to be an empty vow, but she ignored him.

Berior settled on the forest floor, an invitation to be her cozy pillow, and Charlotte said, "At least one of you has manners," and cuddled up in her usual position against his side and slept. When Haedirn arrived with the horses, she found Maethor guarding her once more, and a warm, dry cloak draped across her body.

Thranduil's cloak was once again conspicuously absent.

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AN: Thank you for the reviews/follows/favorites! Hope you like this newest chapter!


	23. Apple Tarts and Martyrs

A pounding ache had settled behind Charlotte's eyes, and she rubbed a hand against her brow as if to push the pain from her skull.

Meluieth shoved a wooden cup of water in front of her. "Drink," she said, her eyes worried and kind. "You won't be able to help anyone if you make yourself sick."

"I'm hardly doing anyone any good now," Charlotte sighed and took the cup. She held it in her shaking hands and stared into the depths, her mind racing over the same questions it had struggled with since they returned to the village hours before.

Meluieth had given all the affected and healed ellons a clean bill of health, and even Berior received an exam and declared cured by the horse master, Rocher. The same could not be said of the elves still in the healing house. Meluieth kept them on a rotated sedation schedule, and Charlotte tried to heal whichever unfortunate elf was conscious. Meluieth didn't have anything that could keep the elves fully asleep; at best, they stared vacantly, eyes glazed and wild; at worst, they had to be restrained. The benefit was Charlotte distracted them with her fëa, which meant they spent minimal time straining against their bonds and screaming.

"Get some rest," Meluieth laid a hand on her shoulder. "You can try again tomorrow if you would like to, but I'm ordering you to bed. You still need to pack as well."

Charlotte nodded and rolled her neck, which only made the tension worse. Thranduil had ordered the river off-limits to the elves and commanded the packing of the settlement. They were given two days to prepare for the journey north. Any longer and they ran the risk of running through their water reserves before they could refill their stock at the Forest River. Water had to be rationed in the meantime; Thranduil would take no risks. No elf was to approach or enter the Tithenduin.

She glanced out the window to where the smudged peach arc of sunlight faded over the treetops and corrected herself— one day left.

Seated on the bed before her, a confused ellon gazed dreamily at her light, and Meluieth used that advantage to press him into drinking a sedative. It took possession of him slowly, until his lids fluttered, once, twice, and tumbled over his dark irises.

Her stomach churned at the sight; it was unnatural. All elves slept with their eyes open, save for her, of course. Meluieth had jerked her awake the first morning of the journey, fearing that she'd strangely died in the night.

"Charlotte," Meluieth sighed, and forcibly tugged her up by her hands. She'd taken the untouched water from Charlotte's hands without her noticing, which was probably for the best since Charlotte didn't wish to use the healing house's rations. "Off to bed with you and stop by the kitchen on the way. See if Cook will relinquish food for you to eat. I haven't seen you eat anything since you arrived this afternoon, and I don't need another patient."

Figuring the best apology was obedience, Charlotte trudged to the stone house in the center of the village, Maethor and Haedirn trailing behind her. Her two guards had been especially attentive following their return to the settlement, but Charlotte was grateful for their presence. Few elves remained out, since most were packing for their departure, but the ones still in the dirt avenues of the settlement acted… odd around her.

An elleth spotted her walking between the wood houses, dragged her husband inside, and slammed the door. An ellon grooming his horse froze, the scratching sound of his brush suddenly silent. The worst were the two guards patrolling the border around the stone house, who narrowed their eyes until she passed beyond the teal doors. Maethor and Haedirn had likely been the only thing deterring the elves from approaching her. She tucked her shoulders in and hurried down the hallway to the kitchen, certain about the reason for the sudden severe unwelcomeness.

She was failing them. The elves had pinned their hopes on her, transported her to the safety of _Emyn Duir_, and she'd been utterly useless against rescuing them from whatever was poisoning their minds and fëar. She debated on skipping the kitchen, dreading more righteous condemnation from the elves, but a gentle nudge from Maethor kept her moving.

Dinner had already been served and cleared, so the dining room was mercifully empty. The dishes were washed and gleaming on the counters when she entered Idhrenes's domain, but a handful of elves were still wiping the work tables and packing supplies. Barrels and wooden crates lined her usual workstation and the surrounding floor, ready to be loaded into wagons for the journey. The door to the larder stood ajar, and the shelves were barren, not even a cobweb in sight.

She stood hesitantly on the threshold and nearly flew out like a coward when the elves paused their work. At least this time, they appeared uncertain rather than distrustful.

"Out," Idhrenes said, and at first, Charlotte was crushed, thinking the cook was talking to her. But Idhrenes shooed the elves out with a wave of her hand and said, "Report at the usual time in the morning for breakfast prep and afterward we'll finish the packing. Now, out, all of you."

In her usual no-nonsense manner, she swooped down on Charlotte and tugged her further into the kitchen. "Look at you," she tsked. "Between you and Thranduil, there's not a smidgen of self-preservation. Hopeless martyrs."

She shoved Charlotte into a stool and piled sliced red apple, wedges of cheese, and sweet bread onto a plate. "At least you were wise enough to eventually come," she continued. "Ellavorn had to chase Thranduil around with a plate." She tsked again. "You both are little good to us when you don't care for yourselves." This time a steaming mug with a faint herbal scent was clunked in front of her. "You think your friend, the healer, would've recognized you need a headache tonic." She sighed, the long-suffering sound of an elleth surrounded by perceived imbeciles.

It was the most aggressive affection she'd ever received.

"Eat," she commanded, and then gave Charlotte's guards the same treatment.

Only once the three of them were seated at the worn table did she return to polishing the workstations.

"Now," she swirled a linen rag in tight circles along the grain and glanced up at Charlotte. "How long are you going to torture yourself over this?"

Charlotte nearly dropped the slice of apple she'd been nibbling on. "Excuse me?"

"The crazy elves holed up in the healing house," Idhrenes said and switched to scrubbing another table. "You haven't healed them. You don't know how."

"I'll figure it out." She hoped.

"And if you can't?"

Her body tightened, and her stomach churned. She didn't want to think about that. If she wasn't able to help them, all of their efforts to get her to _Emyn Duir_ had been for nothing. "I have to," she said, tossing the half-eaten apple wedge on her plate.

"Keep eating, or you'll waste it," Idhrenes dropped the rag with a wet _thwack_! "Wrong. You don't have to."

"But I—"

"But you what?" She scooped up the last of the apples and dropped them into a barrel. "Are you the healer?"

"No, but—"

"Have you been ordered by the king?"

"No—"

"The Valar, perhaps?" Idhrenes said. Charlotte didn't bother replying, knowing that the other elleth would likely interrupt anyway. Sure enough, the cook rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, I'm well aware of the supposed destiny they've thrust onto your back. It's much easier to leave the saving to someone else, after all. I've been watching them take advantage of Thranduil for years."

Her face softened, and she gave Charlotte's hand a quick pat. "It's not a lack of faith in you, dear. Just distaste for them. Thranduil didn't just go to Imladris for the wedding, you know."

"I assumed he was also there to pick up Legolas?"

Idhrenes shook her head, and Maethor and Haedirn suddenly looked livid, but it was Haedirn who explained, "Thranduil wasn't supposed to be escorting Prince Legolas from Imladris."

"What?" Charlotte's brows furrowed. "Then why…" Why was Nemir there? Did she know Thranduil was there? Was she just going to leave Legolas at the nearest elven settlement that wasn't hers?

"Nemir was invited to the wedding as Thranduil's betrothed," Haedirn said, "but she declined her invitation. Ellavorn was still fuming about the whole thing when we met him for the border report. Apparently, Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían were quite surprised and displeased at Nemir's spontaneous arrival on their wedding day. And with a large party too. Such behavior, especially among our nobility, is unheard of. Nemir likely assumed if Legolas did not commit to attending, then Thranduil wouldn't leave the kingdom just to spend time with him."

"So, why did he?" Charlotte sipped her tea, letting the warmth seep through her body and ease the ache in her neck and head. She remembered Thranduil telling her of his desperate attempts to be with his son and knew, if Thranduil had been aware that Legolas would be in Imladris for the wedding, he would've turned his world upside down to be there as well.

Idhrenes tapped her finger twice on the wood. "One, so he could attend the wedding of a dear friend. I doubt Nemir knew Lord Elrond and Thranduil have always been close friends, nearly brothers with the way they sometimes squabble. The second reason was to beg for aid."

"Against this "darkness" in the Greenwood," Charlotte nodded knowingly. "But why didn't Lord Elrond send help, if they're as close as you say?"

"You arrived," Idhrenes said succinctly. At Charlotte's confused expression, she added, "I can only guess that he feared Galadriel and Celeborn would revoke their permission for the marriage if Elrond committed Imladris troops to aid the Greenwood. They would rather ensconce Lady Celebrían in _Lórinand _than leave her alone in Imladris and bound to an ellon at war. Should anything happen to him…"

"She would fade," Haedirn whispered.

Idhrenes nodded sadly, "They would be risking their only daughter's death. Luckily for Lord Elrond, you arrived: a Valar-sent savior for both the Greenwood and his impending nuptials. With their own Valar hero in residence, I'm hardly surprised he came up with such an idea. He'll no doubt show up eventually, now that the threat to his bond has been removed. He is a peace-loving ellon, always has been, and he will avoid confrontation for as long as possible."

"You've forgotten one thing," Charlotte set the mug on the worn wood, "I _have _healed elves from this already."

"You did," Idhrenes said, "but you miss my point. Your destiny is decided by your choices alone. Look at your friend, Meluieth. Her role was never to be a healer. She comes from a long line of woodworkers and servants. She runs the healing house primarily by herself since the actual healer is too drunk to tend to it most of the time."

She heard the words, and they made sense, but Charlotte struggled to shake the feeling of responsibility. Meluieth had said there was no known cure, except Charlotte's necklace. How could she shrug that off? And though Idhrenes, Maethor, and Haedirn seemed to think that curing the illness wasn't singularly on her shoulders, she clearly remembered the suspicion of the other elves, and even Meluieth appeared upset at Charlotte's inability to utilize the necklace. She could never quite figure out where Thranduil stood on anything. He was so warm one moment, and kingly and distant the next.

Idhrenes seemed to read her thoughts. She nudged the tea closer to Charlotte, a subtle hint to drink. "They'll all get over it. No elf should condemn you for what they cannot deliver themselves."

_But they are anyway_, Charlotte thought dismally.

Hours later, Charlotte lay in her small bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. Outside her door, the floorboards creaked each time Maethor shifted his weight. Haedirn had been relieved of duty hours before, and she was hoping that Maethor would leave his post soon as well. They hadn't been particularly clear about her guard schedule, and Haedirn had only let slip that they took breaks while she slept. That could mean the two split the night shift or took a break at the same time.

Finally, about halfway through the night, she heard the floorboard groan, and then Maethor's soft steps disappeared down the hallway. She counted to one hundred before throwing off the linen sheet and tiptoeing across the room.

When she cracked the door, the hall was empty. It let out a high-pitched creak as she slowly pulled it open, one hand on the knob and the other on the wood, before she shimmied out, and gently tugged it shut. Silence. No movement or rushing guards to indicate she'd been heard.

She wasn't brave enough to leave the house, though some fresh air in the moonlight, blissfully alone, would have been refreshing. Instead, she aimed her feet toward the kitchen. It would be a change of scenery from her small room, and she'd still be wonderfully alone.

The door to the kitchen didn't make a sound; she doubted Idhrenes would have allowed such a thing. The elleth was every bit a dragon guarding her hoard: shining pots, kettles, and knives and smooth, clean, wood surfaces. Squeaky doors would not be permitted in her domain.

Which is precisely how he snuck up on her.

"I warned Maethor you would attempt to slip their guard," Thranduil said.

She spun to find him leaning casually on the door jamb, dressed only in a loose tunic and leggings. Golden skin peeked out from the vee in his shirt, and he'd rolled the tunic sleeves almost to his elbows.

"Imagine my surprise when you did it during _my _watch," he continued. He pushed off the wall and walked past her into the shadowy kitchen, his bare feet silent against the wood floors.

Only the hearth fire burned, despite the late hour, and as he moved about the room, the flames both illuminated his skin and cast half in shadows.

Her brain finally registered his words. "_Your _watch?" She crossed her arms. She was angry when she had two guards, and now there were actually three.

"You didn't think I would assign guards during the day and leave you unprotected at night?" His back was to her, but she could hear him shuffling around Idhrenes's usual workstation.

She didn't bother telling him that, yes, that was exactly what she had foolishly hoped for. "Why you though?'

"I'm right next door and awake," his shirt bunched as he shrugged. "Until we've moved to the northern caverns, Maethor and Haedirn have been ordered to return home at night to rest. Otherwise, they'd be sleeping on the floor in front of your door, no doubt. Aha!" He turned, a look of glee on his face. In his hands, he held a small plate with a tart on it. When he placed it on the nearest table, she could see the neat spiral of thinly sliced apples tucked inside a golden crust.

"Idhrenes will probably murder you," Charlotte warned.

Thranduil grinned, "Intriguing."

"What?"

"That she allows you to use her name," he shrugged again and went back to Idhrenes's workstation. There was a clatter, and he sauntered to their table with two forks. "It is as I've suspected. You'll never be rid of her now." He said faux solemnly. "She even left a fork out for you."

"There are much worse things than being friends with the cook," Charlotte said. "Do you do this often? Pilfer the kitchen?"

"I'm the king; I can't pilfer my own kitchen," he said, before handing her a fork. She eyed it warily, not wanting to upset the elleth and lose her friendship and kitchen privileges. Thranduil rolled his eyes with a smile, "She makes them specifically for me. It's safe."

His warm fingers brushed against hers as she took the fork, and she nearly dropped it. To his credit, Thranduil didn't comment and focused on delicately carving a small triangular bite from the tart. She caught herself studying the muscles in his forearm clenching beneath his skin, and she jerked her eyes away.

"I owe you an apology," she said, finally carving a bite off for herself. The apples were sweet and had a warm spice to them she wasn't expecting. She nearly moaned at the taste. Middle Earth had been distinctly lacking in the sweet, processed sugar desserts she was used to at home. She nudged those thoughts aside. "The other day, when you assigned the guards, I might've— no, I _was_ a bit harsh. Honestly, I'm just used to having autonomy, doing things for myself and by myself. Having babysitters constantly felt… degrading."

Thranduil pushed his bite around for a moment before he said, "I am the king, and my responsibility is to the safety of my people."

She sighed, feeling an ache in her heart she couldn't explain.

"But," Thranduil added, and she glanced up to find his silver eyes on her, "I probably should've explained _why_ I was assigning guards to you."

Her fork poked at her next bite, though she didn't eat it. "And will you? Explain that is?"

"Some of it you know already," he shook his head, briefly chewing over his words. "My Adar was chosen by the Silvan elves to rule them, and the elves honored me when they continued the line and chose me to succeed him. Legolas will hopefully follow in my place."

"But there is a small faction displeased by our participation in the Last Alliance, believing it to have been a Noldor war where we were used as battle fodder." He ran a hand through his hair and his shoulders curved. "You've met Cúthon. He rallied the hardest against it and nearly succeeded at collapsing our army before it could march from Amon Lanc. Only the promise of equality, guaranteed by my betrothal and its terms, was enough to demolish his efforts."

"Why not punish him for going against orders?"

"Because Cúthon is royalty in his own right, of a sort. He is the oldest Silvan elf from the Greenwood, save for one other who has no interest in ruling or representing the people."

It was no wonder Lothuial considered herself a princess. She basically was one.

"Why keep him as an advisor then?" She asked.

"For the same reason: he is wise and cares greatly for our people. It is only that we differ in our approach and beliefs about what is best that keeps us from cordiality. As king, having an honest dissenting voice can be worth one thousand agreeing ones. It guarantees I consider multiple options and scenarios. I have other advisors, of course, but they tend to agree with me. It sounds arrogant, I know, but we are friends as well and therefore have similar views."

Half the tart lay abandoned, and the plate was pushed aside. Charlotte was tracing her index finger over a knot in the wood when Thranduil gently grasped her hand.

"Take tomorrow off from the healing house," he said, shifting the conversation away from guards and plotting elves. "If you're amenable to it, I'd like to take you into the forest."

Charlotte slipped her hand free with a defeated sigh. "I can't just gallivant around the forest when I'm, so far, the only thing able to bring these elves back to themselves. Meluieth is overrun. I need to keep trying."

"I admire that," he said, "but your way isn't working. Maybe it's time for a dissenting advisor."

"Are you offering to be my Cúthon?"

He shuddered, but grinned at her, biting his lower lip. Her eyes were locked on the movement, and a flush heated the tips of her ears. "Middle Earth does not need another Cúthon," he said. "I fear the Valar may rescind their oath should such a thing befall us."

She knew the Valar were the elven equivalent of gods, but her theological or historical knowledge was lacking in this world. "I get most of that joke," she settled on.

"The vow refers to the Valar's promise to avoid direct conflict with the occupants of Middle Earth."

"Wouldn't they want to help their people?"

"They have attempted to protect us since the first awakening of the elves thousands of years ago. There were at least two major wars they participated in, and they had great consequences. Mountains were leveled, seas rose and ate away at the land, cities were burned and swallowed, our people perished or fled these shores. Some of our people, the Noldor who had seen and lived in Valinor, were exiled due to their actions."

"So that's it then? They mess up, majorly, twice, and then abandon you all to your lot?" She crossed her arms and leaned back.

"No," Thranduil smirked, and she got the feeling he was amused by her ire. "They send emissaries. Elves like Lord Glorfindel, and a new representative, an elleth, I believe."

She narrowed her eyes, "Idhrenes said that Lord Elrond made that up to keep his Galadriel and Celeborn from stealing his bride back."

"Elrond is too good and pure to lie and put an innocent elleth at risk," Thranduil said, though it held all the affection of a sibling. "Galadriel wouldn't risk it either if it meant you would be ineffectual and Elrond would still be forced to march his troops to aid the Greenwood."

Any hope she'd felt at Idhrenes's assurances faded from her body, until Thranduil said, "I think, what Idhrenes might have been trying to tell you, if it's the same lecture I get every night, is that we may be pushed by others to a certain path, but that does not mean we must obey them. Every choice is our own to make."

"She gives you this lecture every night?"

Thranduil's smile was carefree and affectionate, "And she'll probably continue to do so every night until I 'see sense.' But enough of that. Tomorrow. Come with me."

He made it sound like both a request and an order. She chewed her lip and thought it over. "Okay, but no guards."

Thranduil leaned forward, grinning, a king invested in negotiations. "Both guards."

"Then, no."

"I doubt even I can keep them from tailing you at this point," he said.

"Try harder."

His laugh echoed through the kitchen, "Very well, _Baraheth_. Two guards, but they'll patrol at a distance."

"Don't condescend to me with cute nicknames," she humphed, but her lips pursed against a smile. _"Fiery one," indeed._ It seemed that would be the most Thranduil would concede, and all-in-all, it wasn't a bad option considering they would be out in the forest. She never wanted Thranduil's safety to rest solely on her unprepared shoulders again.

Still, she didn't wish to end the game between them. "How long will we be out?"

"Most of the morning and afternoon." His eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he leaned his arms on the wood between them. "Why?"

"I'm in charge of lunch then."

"I'm sure Idhrenes would be willing to supply whatever you request," he said, and Charlotte hid her own smirk and didn't correct his impression.

"Will Legolas be joining us?" She asked. Legolas would probably love another ride with Berior, and the elk had a soft spot for the elfling. Of course, so did she.

"Regrettably, he'll be training in the morning, and he has lessons with Golodhon in the afternoon."

She tried to hide her disappointment. It felt like she'd barely seen Legolas since arriving at _Emyn Duir_, and though she understood he had responsibilities as a prince, she still couldn't help the small twinge of pain at the absence of the elfling she'd grown to adore. Thranduil must've registered her upset anyway.

"He'll have more freedom once we're settled in the north. For now, I just want him to have some stability in his life." His sigh seemed to deflate his body. "I can't help but regret that his world is in upheaval right now. Not only did he lose his naneth, but his home as well. Now, all I've offered him is months of moving, of loss."

Charlotte's heart squeezed at the uncertainty in his face. She rested her hand on his arm. "You're about to offer him a permanent home, and a safe one, in these caverns of yours. He'll be alright in the end. I think that your schedule for him is a wonderful idea."

His lips twitched, "I doubt I'll ever adjust to your compassion."

"I think you give me too much credit. Maybe you just deserve it."

Thranduil twisted his mouth in a self-deprecating way, and rested his warm hand over hers, trapping it against his skin. "Allow me to escort you to your room?" he asked.

They cleaned the wood table, washed the forks, and Thranduil covered the half-eaten tart with a linen towel and smothered the smoldering fire. Moonlight bloomed through the kitchen, and he tangled her fingers in his before pulling her from the room.

At her door, he lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing a soft kiss between the knuckles of her index and middle finger. His mouth hovered for a moment, while her heart pounded against her ribs. "Rest well," he whispered, his breath dancing along her skin as heat flooded her body. He vanished into his room without another word, leaving her standing in the corridor with her eyes glazed and her fingers still floating midair.

As Charlotte slipped into her room and leaned against the back of her door, staring into the moonlight through her windows, she thought Thranduil was the most confusing ellon she'd ever encountered. One moment, he was distant, aloof, "the king," as she liked to call him in her mind. And then, he'd be sweet, attentive, and understanding, undoubtedly the best friend she'd ever had in her life. Which was real though? Both? Neither?

Sometimes, he made her feel like she might be considered a friend to him as well, and other times… other times, she was treated purely as an asset of the realm. Or maybe that was how he treated everyone he cared about. One thing was for sure, she couldn't keep bouncing back and forth and trying to guess, and she knew, somehow the truth of it resonating deep within her fëa, that if she asked him, he would be honest in his answer.

If only she felt brave enough to ask.

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AN: Much love to all of you! Thank you for inspiring me to continue writing!


	24. Into the Woods

Charlotte flung herself out of bed when she woke to the bright morning sun across her face. She hadn't overslept since she was seventeen, for goodness sake, and now she was late for training with Ellavorn. She scurried around her small room, throwing off the pale nightgown Celebrían had gifted her, and hopping around as she tried to shove her legs into leggings and throw on a clean tunic.

Her favorite oversized ones had seen a drastic decrease in use since she didn't want to risk tearing or staining them in training. Instead, she selected one that already looked worn, assuming Ellavorn would put her through hell for being late.

Finger combing her hair, she crept from her room and nearly jumped out of her skin when Haedirn said, "What did you do last night?" His teasing smile made her yank the door closed with a _snap!_

"Slept," She said succinctly.

"Before or after your midnight wandering?" He peeled off the wall to fall in beside her.

"Why are you asking if you already know the answer?"

"Because," Maethor sighed, "he wishes to once again remind me that I am responsible for fletching his arrows this week."

"And restringing my bow."

"And restringing his bow," Maethor sighed again and turned his betrayed eyes on her.

"You two bet," she said softly, "on whose guard I would slip past?"

"No," Haedirn was gleeful, practically bouncing on his toes, "_three _of us bet on who you would slip past first." He clapped Maethor on the shoulder, who bore it with dignity, and said, "But sweet, innocent, betrayed Maethor here, bet that you wouldn't try to escape our watch at all."

Maethor again turned his disappointed eyes to her, but she focused on the small nugget of information that Haedirn had likely intentionally dropped. "If Maethor wasn't one of the three betting on the guard, then who were the other two?"

"Ellavorn said you'd slip past me," Haedirn said, his smirk growing wider at her disgust, but then he frowned. "Actually, Thranduil said you'd slip past me first, as well."

"Next time, I'll aim for your rotation."

"Duly noted," Haedirn said, and gave her an extravagant bow. "Let the games begin, my lady. You'll find me an impossible elf to escape."

"I already do," Maethor deadpanned.

Charlotte laughed at Haedirn's affronted expression. "Come then, my fearless shadow," she said. "I'm late as it is, and Ellavorn will run me through training until I drop for being late. We'll swing by the kitchen for water, and you both can grab breakfast."

A bedroom door slammed down the hall, hard enough to make the dining room door rattle in its frame, and Haedirn snorted in disgust. "Guess we were too loud for the Lady Lothuial."

But as they approached the dining room, Charlotte could hear Lothuial through the door. "Our union will unite the two peoples," the elleth was saying, and Charlotte wondered what poor ellon had been trapped in a betrothal with Lothuial. "You and I will usher in a new age of prosperity and peace in the Greenwood, my king."

"The contract is prepared for your review, Thranduil," Cúthon said, his oily voice oozing down the hallway. "A wedding on _Mereth Nuin Giliath_; it's just what the people need. Stability and consistency are required after decades of turmoil wrought by your last… unfortunate betrothal."

Charlotte froze outside the door, her mind whirling. Thranduil. Engaged to that horrible viper? Something ugly and raw stirred in her chest. This had to be a scheme by Cúthon. She was sure Thranduil wouldn't endure it.

"Careful with your words, Cúthon," Thranduil hissed, and Charlotte straightened, waiting eagerly to hear him dismiss the contract and the betrothal. "My son is the outcome of my 'unfortunate betrothal,' as you've put it, and he has already united our peoples. And the wedding would have to occur before _Mereth Nuin Giliath_. That evening is for the stars and Varda alone."

_The_ wedding. Charlotte's heart twisted painfully. He spoke as if there actually would be a wedding. She tried to picture him wedded to Lothuial and thought for sure she would vomit across the hardwood.

She shook her head. No, she would not doubt him. Not for a moment. Thranduil had already suffered through one betrothal; he would not do so again. He'd intimated on multiple occasions that he wanted the realness of a bond.

He may have no romantic interest in her, but he certainly wasn't interested in Lothuial either. Charlotte straightened her shoulders, adopting the confident persona Thranduil used as a shield, and pushed the dining room door.

Thranduil glanced up from his usual seat at the center of the long table and paled at the sight of her. Piles of scrolls and parchment were meticulously stacked around him, and a broad black feather quill was delicately perched between his graceful fingers.

Ellavorn stood behind him, his lips twisted in frustration. She guessed that _this_ was why she wasn't forcibly dragged from bed for training after she overslept. He didn't move to collect her, so she assumed her training with him was canceled for the day.

Lothuial, unsurprisingly, was simpering beside Thranduil, and she gave Charlotte a look of vicious gloating that nearly made Charlotte sag with relief. Nobody truly confident in their position would try to scare her off with an expression like that. Cúthon was equally smug, standing at Thranduil's left side with an unrolled scroll stretched out between them. No doubt, it was the aforementioned contract.

Charlotte quirked a brow at the tableau and forced a cheerful smile on her face. "Good morning," she said simply and breezed past them all into the sanctuary of the kitchen.

Idhrenes was whirling about the room when she entered, packing away utensils and ordering barrels loaded into wagons. The back door was propped open, and the elves streamed through with great oaken barrels, ceramic pots, wooden crates, and deep woven baskets.

"Leave that one," Idhrenes said to an elf carrying a basket filled with bread. "Those are the ones for dinner tonight. The ones for the journey are packed over there."

Charlotte waited for a break in the line and approached her. "How can I help?"

"We've got it well in hand, dear," Idhrenes said and gave her a quick absentminded pat on the hand. "I appreciate your offer though. Why not sit with me a moment? I could use a break myself, and I haven't seen any of the three of you in the dining room yet today, so you'll be needing breakfast."

Once they were ensconced at a table away from the ruckus and Idhrenes had placed a heaping plate in front of each of them, the cook settled with a sigh. "Oh, I cannot wait until we are finally moved north. To not have to pack and resettle once more will be divine. Thranduil has assured me the kitchens there are more spacious than even _Amon Lanc's_. It will be such a relief to be able to spread out."

"They are," Haedirn said before he bit into his apple.

"You've seen them?" Idhrenes leaned forward, rested her chin in her hand, and waited patiently for Haedirn to finish chewing, her wide cinnamon eyes locked on him. Her cheeks were flushed from the kitchen's heat, and Charlotte moved to fetch her a cup of water from the workstation by the window.

Haedirn was trying frantically to both chew politely and quickly so he could answer Idhrenes and seemed to appreciate Charlotte distracting the cook by placing the water before her. Idhrenes turned her wide eyes on her and whispered a soft thank you, just as a relieved Haedirn swallowed his bite.

"As Marchwarden of the Northern Border, I'm responsible for maintaining the safety of the area around the caverns," he shrugged. "Thranduil had me examine them for weaknesses in their defenses. Maethor has seen them as well."

Charlotte felt guilty at her surprise. She had assumed Maethor was the Marchwarden of the Northern Border. Even though Thranduil had told her that Haedirn and Maethor were both excellent guards, she'd made the false assumption based on Maethor's stern countenance and Haedirn's devil-may-care attitude.

Haedirn must have caught her look because he grinned and said, "Don't let him fool you. Maethor had _other_ responsibilities." There was a darkness to his grin that made Charlotte want to avoid asking what those other responsibilities were.

Charlotte decided a change in subject would be prudent and asked Idhrenes, "If it's not too much trouble, would you allow me to prepare a lunch for my training this afternoon with Thranduil? We'll be out in the forest, so we won't be here for the meal."

Idhrenes was oddly pleased by this and nodded. "Help yourself to whatever is still unpacked," she said. "I have only one request."

"Oh?" Charlotte asked, delighted by the elleth's eagerness.

"You're going to show me how you cook those pumpkin seeds."

"You must've read my mind," Charlotte laughed. "That's one of the things I was going after."

Idhrenes's eagerness reminded Charlotte of Legolas as she taught the cook how to roast the seeds until they were perfectly golden brown and warm. She did the first batch while Idhrenes watched, and Idhrenes spent the time showing her the best way to cook over the hearth without burning herself. At one point, Charlotte's loose curls swung low over the flames, and only Idhrenes's quick actions kept her hair from being singed.

"After this batch is finished," the cook said, still holding Charlotte's hair, "we're braiding this."

Charlotte blushed, wishing she'd taken a moment to throw her hair together, and realizing that she had been in her worst tunic and wild hair when she'd entered the dining room earlier. It was no wonder Lothuial looked smug.

She couldn't imagine the joy Lothuial would have if Charlotte had burned off her own hair. She wasn't used to it being so long. It'd been at least a foot shorter when she was human, and now it trailed down to her hips. After nearly a month of being an elf, she still had so many things to learn about her new body, not to mention her new life.

By the time the first batch was cooling on Idhrenes's workstation, Charlotte's spirits had deteriorated. She was quiet as Idhrenes directed her to one of the worn stools by the window and scrounged around for a comb. Charlotte was surprised to see her whip one from a ceramic pot in the corner.

"Hours in a small room with a fire and fifteen other elves can make my hair puff up like a bear in winter," Idhrenes explained as she pulled the comb through Charlotte's hair. "It's nice to be able to freshen up between meals. I wash it and store it here, so I don't have to leave the kitchen unattended. Valar be blessed, these elves would burn it to the ground, I'm sure." She clucked in a way that said she didn't really believe they couldn't manage without her.

Charlotte smiled weakly, trying not to shake as she felt the soothing motion of Idhrenes's soft hands combing through her hair. When was the last time someone combed her hair like this? Sure, Meluieth did it sometimes, but this… this was almost… _maternal_.

Charlotte blinked heavily at the moisture curling along her lashes. Wasn't she done crying? Hadn't she poured it all into the river with Thranduil? She took a deep, steadying breath and was supremely grateful that Haedirn and Maethor were suddenly intensely focused on the kitchen doors. Especially when Idhrenes started humming.

The tune was soft, like a lullaby, with slow, gentle notes, and a soothing melody. She squeezed her eyes closed. She could enjoy this moment, right? Her cage for her emotions had been so thoroughly decimated she knew there would be no containing the storm rolling through her, and she both cursed and praised this tiny moment for reminding her of her loss.

Her mother would hum and comb her hair just like this, decades ago when she was young enough to appreciate and cherish the help. The memory was bittersweet, and she held onto it, letting the pain and joy mingle in her heart.

_This_, she thought, her heart aching, _this is what it is to grieve forever._ She finally understood why Thranduil had said that the pain both ended and endured; understood how grief was enough to force an elf to fade.

Idhrenes was quick and efficient in pulling her hair into an intricate braid until she was left with its tail curled over her right shoulder. It was almost too quick for Charlotte's liking. She'd wanted to savor the moment for as long as possible, and just like all the other beautiful moments in her life, it was gone nearly as soon as it arrived.

"Beautiful," the elleth said and patted Charlotte's shoulders.

Charlotte's voice was hoarse as she thanked her, and Idhrenes smiled softly, her eyes filled with shared pain and understanding. "The seeds should be cool enough to eat," the elleth said. "Let's try them, and then we can pack some for your lunch today."

An hour later, Charlotte left a gleeful Idhrenes standing over the third batch of pumpkin seeds. By that point, most of the kitchen elves were munching on the roasted seeds as they worked, and even Maethor and Haedirn had taken a small handful to snack on while she rushed back to her room to switch out of her worn tunic.

Idhrenes had shown her the braid with a small mirror from her stash, and Charlotte had quickly decided that Idhrenes's work was too beautiful to waste on a training tunic.

She'd debated on utilizing one of Celebrían's gifted gowns but quickly dismissed it. Thranduil had heavily implied that they would be training in the forest, and she couldn't imagine fighting, or whatever else Thranduil had planned, in long flowing skirts. Groaning, she realized Ellavorn would eventually conclude that she'd need to know how to fight in any outfit, and he'd start training her in her gowns as well. Until then, she'd wear whatever she wanted, so she gently maneuvered the training tunic off and slid one of her borrowed, oversized ones on.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to find Thranduil already waiting for her. Like her, he'd changed his earlier attire and, though there was an elaborateness to the design, he was dressed like any other Woodland elf in a long-sleeved tunic and leggings. Daggers hung from his hips, and a bow was strapped across his back.

He seemed hesitant, cautious, around her, and where he would normally offer his arm to escort her, he only said, "Shall we?"

Charlotte gnawed her lip with worry as they crossed the sweeping lawns and tracked over the dirt pathways to the main gate. Maybe she'd been overconfident? Was Thranduil actually entertaining the idea of a marriage with Lothuial? Cúthon had promised him consistency for his people with the merger, and Charlotte's stomach twisted as she remembered Thranduil's insistence on supplying the same thing for Legolas. Would he sacrifice himself again for his people's peace of mind?

She chastised herself for thinking it. She'd said earlier that she wasn't going to doubt him in that regard, though she wasn't entirely sure why the idea of him and Lothuial together bothered her so much. Sure, she could admit that she was attracted to him, and sometimes she considered him a friend, but it wasn't as if he was her… well, anything other than a sometimes-friend.

Her eyes roamed his smooth face as they walked side-by-side, and she felt her heart beat faster. Okay, she was _very_ attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? He had a plush mouth and beautiful smiles, and she loved the way his lips twitched when he found something funny. His dry wit and playful personality were endearing, and honestly, his deep voice felt like velvet across her skin. She'd listen to him read a grocery list with rapt attention.

The same voice dragged her from her thoughts when he said, "Are you feeling well? You look flushed." Thranduil's silver eyes were filled with concern. "We can do this another day if you're still worn out from yesterday."

She cleared her throat and tried to force her cheeks to cool. "No, I'm well. I mean, I'm feeling fine, thank you."

Berior and Belegroch were waiting at the gate alongside Maethor and Haedirn's chestnut stallions, and Charlotte took her chance to escape his questioning by climbing onto Berior's back.

Once she was settled, she adjusted the satchel that held their lunch and ran her fingers through Berior's fur. "I thought elks thickened their coats around winter?" She asked Thranduil. Berior's hair was thinner than before, and she worried he would soon look patchy. How would he stay warm this winter? Was all this traveling and stress too much for him?

"They do," Thranduil said, and he eyed her elk with concern. "He could still be recovering from the illness. We'll have Rocher examine him again."

Charlotte leaned down and whispered to Berior, "Would you like to stay here and rest? The stables are warmer, and I could get you a blanket and something to eat?"

But Berior stubbornly shook his great head and stomped the ground. It was clear he would not let her leave the gates without him.

"Alright, but if you start to look worse, I'm dragging you home."

Thranduil's head jerked to stare at her in surprise.

"What?" She asked.

He shook his head, wiping the expression from his face and urging Belegroch onward, and the party fell in behind him. The small group rode for an hour, heading north along the Tithenduin, and Charlotte couldn't help but think about the last time they'd made this journey. They gave the water a wide berth as they passed under the arms of the pines and beeches.

Winter was creeping up slowly on them. Already the air was crisp and tingled the tips of her ears and nose. It wouldn't be long before the weather turned biting, and she wondered if Middle Earth saw snow during the season. Part of her hoped not, since the clothes she wore were the thickest she owned. Elves could tolerate a greater spectrum of temperatures, so she doubted they had anything resembling a thick winter coat. She would be the weird elleth buried under layers of cloaks come winter.

When Thranduil finally stopped the party, they were in a clearing just slightly east of the river, close enough that they could still hear the water bubbling over the stones, but far enough away that she couldn't see it through the trees.

Maethor and Haedirn vanished into the canopy without a word, the satchels of food Charlotte had packed for them swinging against their hips. She slid from Berior's back and left him to settle in the grass. When she turned, Belegroch had already wandered off to find something palatable, and Thranduil had stretched himself out on the grass and leaves with his head tilted back so the afternoon sun could warm his face. His silvery hair looked striking against the faded copper and gold leaves that carpeted the forest.

"So," she said, twisting her hands and staring at him, "what will we be learning today?"

He patted the ground beside him, his eyes still blissfully closed and said, "Sit."

She gently folded herself, shifting against the crackling leaves, and waited. Thranduil was silent, peaceful, for a moment, and she squirmed, wondering if he would ever speak. His mouth twitched, and his dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks, but her impatience didn't sway him. Finally, he said, "It's been far too long since I have simply enjoyed being in the forest."

Charlotte didn't know what to say to that, so she picked up a leaf and twirled its dry brown stem between her fingers, watching the colors of the leaf shift as it spun. Thranduil seemed content in the silence, and even Berior stretched his rear legs out and got comfortable.

She tried to settle herself, tried to rest in the silence as they did, but the more she forced it, the more she felt itchy all over. Her eyes darted down. Were there bugs all over her? Nope. Her foot bounced. Why had he brought her out here?

Thranduil grabbed her hand, and she whipped around to stare at him. His silver eyes had crinkled in amusement. "Calm yourself, sink down into your fëa," he said as if it were the easiest thing in the world, and perhaps, for him, it was.

Her foot stilled. He'd finally given her an action, something she could _do. _She pulled her light to the surface almost instantly, and Thranduil smiled proudly at her effort. "You're nearly there," he said and pulled his own brilliant fëa to fill the clearing. The majesty of their joined light was slightly diminished in the bright afternoon sun, but she still savored the way his golden glow caressed her glittering fëa in a powerful dance.

"Breathe in the forest," Thranduil whispered. She wasn't sure what he meant though. She took a deep breath, smelling the sharp pines and the damp soil. Thranduil chuckled at her efforts and gently added, "Feel the life around you with your fëa. Reach out and touch the pines' rough bark, crawl deep beneath the soil to where the roots reach for sustenance, feel their grasping boughs warming in the sun."

She could picture it so easily, the exact way his soft voice described it, could feel the squirrels preparing their winter nest in the upper limbs of a mighty beech, touch the scars from the stag horns on the bark. Deep below her, worms wiggled through the dirt, looping around roots and rocks and loosening the soil just as the trees delved further.

And then she could see herself, spread out beneath the barren canopy beside Thranduil, and Berior's golden fëa beamed at her as well. She scrunched her brow at it, taking in the small grey center. Maybe he really was sick. She resolved to take him to Rocher when they got back.

Thranduil's warm hand clasped hers, and he murmured, "Focus. You're doing so well. Stretch out your awareness and fly with me." There was a gentle, alluring tug on her fëa, and she smiled as she realized it was Thranduil.

Following the call of his soul, she reached out and found herself whipping through the forest beside his fëa, all on her own. It was enthralling. He led her through caves of furry brown bears, past burrows filled with long-eared rabbits, into a herd of mighty elk nearly the size of Berior, and north, pouncing from one tree to the next until he dove both of them into a wide rushing river.

"The forest river," his voice sounded in her mind. The sensation was jolting and followed by his deep laugh. "Think about what you wish to say and push it toward me."

She focused intently, mischief twinkling in her fëa, and he heard, "Brains are private places, in case you didn't know." Charlotte worried after she said it that he could see the swirls of emotion that erupted when she thought of him. She tried to shuffle them away but went too hard too quickly and fell back into her body. Her brain felt scrambled, and she groaned and closed her eyes against the spinning sensation. Thranduil followed more gracefully.

"I cannot read your thoughts as Galadriel can," he said, once her brain had settled. "Mind-to-mind communication can only be done between two willing minds, and you'll find few elves understand or have the power to initiate it. There are only four currently in Middle Earth, including myself, capable of performing the feat: Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn are the others. With your power, I hope to teach it to you as it was once taught to me."

"Who taught you?" She asked though she had a good idea.

"Elrond during the war," his eyes dimmed as he traveled through his memories. "It was excellent for battle strategy, and we'd perfected communicating over greater distances each day. It was how I was able to warn him…" He fell silent, and she could see an echo of grief in his gaze. "But enough of that. I brought you out here to work on connecting to your abilities. You've nearly mastered dimming and unveiling your fëa. Now we need to determine the catalyst for the stone in your necklace. Start with the last time it activated. What were you thinking about just before?"

Charlotte thought back to the frantic moments where Thranduil had been lost to the pain of his past, the agony etched in his face, her heart's desperate desire for him to come back to her. "I wanted you to be free from your pain," she said. "I wanted you to come back."

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully, "And what about with Legolas?"

Legolas. She'd wanted to calm him, to soothe his sorrow. She said as much to Thranduil, and he frowned as he worked it over in his mind. "Try activating it now using that. Make yourself _want_ something strongly."

"What would I want though?" She asked. She could think of a hundred things, but none she truly believed the necklace would supply: her mother alive being the head of the list. A way home. Her mind halted at that. Did she want to go home?

"Try Berior," he suggested. "You've been worried he's falling ill: _want_ him to feel better, stronger; _want_ his fur to grow thick and warm for winter."

She kneeled in front of the elk, who watched her warily with his full grey eyes, and focused on her desire: she wanted him to grow healthy, wanted his fur to thicken into a rich, heavy, winter coat. He blinked at her, studying her intently, but no hair sprouted, her necklace didn't light, and the tell-tale heat was absent.

"It's not working," she told Thranduil.

"I see that," he sighed and started pacing. "I was certain it was activated by your thoughts at the moment."

She didn't bother telling him that she'd already tried something similar. Berior nudged her necklace with his nose, and she sighed, rubbing her fingers down his long face. "I know," she said, "I wish I could've helped you."

"None of this makes sense," Thranduil said.

Charlotte hesitated before she said, "Maybe we're working on the wrong end of this?"

"What do you mean?"

"We're so focused on my ability to heal it that we never thought to ask questions about the elves who've recovered."

Thranduil froze, knowing what was coming next.

"Thranduil," Charlotte asked gently, "what do you remember?"

He sighed and dropped beside her. Berior's eyes flicked back and forth between them. "It was as if I had been transported over a hundred years into the past. I woke, and I didn't remember you or the elves or even what day it was, and then my adar was there, as real as you are now. I swore I could feel him. I had remembered he'd died, but to me, it had been days before. The agony felt like being ripped apart by wargs." He pinched his eyes closed. "The worst part was, after you healed me, I was still thankful because I got to see him just once more."

Charlotte turned over his words, trying to tie together the connection her brain was attempting to make. He'd said something… she couldn't put her finger on what, but something had resonated with her. "What about the stars?" She asked, while her mind tried to force the pieces to fit. "You mentioned 'weeping stars.'"

"I did?" He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I do not remember, but the others, the elves in the healing house, they mentioned 'weeping stars' as well."

Berior cried out, and they both turned to him. The elk leaned deliberately forward and pushed against the stone with his nose.

"I wish this thing would let me understand you," Charlotte grumbled. "Of course, I'd still have to get it to work, and if I could do that, there wouldn't be a growing mound of forgetful elves." She looked over to Thranduil and found him pale and staring at her.

"Your mother," he whispered, shock etched in his wide eyes.

Charlotte instantly tensed. "What about her?"

"You said she forgot things: dates, people, events," he insisted.

"Yes, and?"

"And we forgot one moment when your stone activated. One moment where no one was affected by its magic."

Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face. "In the river. That night with you," she stumbled out, horror mounting in her chest.

"You were crying," he whispered, "over your mother's death."

Her heart thundered in her chest, and she felt the bile burning in her throat. What had she done? "I enchanted the river," she breathed. "The elves are showing my mother's worst symptoms. I'm the weeping stars."

The trees around her spun. Dimly, she heard Berior call out over the rushing in her ears. She'd cursed them. Thranduil's people. They were suffering now because of her. And she had no idea how to fix it.

* * *

AN: I can't apologize enough for being away for a month; I've missed all of you so much! Life hit, and I normally try to finish writing a new chapter before posting a previously completed chapter, but I stayed up to edit and post this because it's been so long since the last posting. I'm so thrilled you all are loving their interactions! There's more to come and more Charlotte and Legolas and Charlotte and Idhrenes as well! Thank your for your lovely comments! I hope to have a new chapter out to you soon!

Aquarius Black: Thank you! The plural versions have been driving me crazy! Before everything went south, I went back and read all the books trying to find the plural version and searched through the elven dictionaries I was using and couldn't find it. I am super grateful for your comment and the resource! It led me to a few additional resources as well and I've learned a lot about turning Sindarin nouns into plural forms. (I agree with you, "ellith" seems to be the best plural version of "elleth.") I'll be working on updating the story to reflect that new knowledge! Also: thank you so much for your kindness in your comment! I've been on some scathing message boards reaming authors for incorrect Elvish, so I really appreciate your compassion. :)


	25. Rhudoleth

There was shouting all around her, and Charlotte sprung up from her bedroll just as a body toppled over her spot. She couldn't have been asleep for more than a few minutes since the fire that illuminated the camp was still steadily burning. The elf on her bedroll moaned and rolled over; it was one of the crazed elves she'd been unable to heal or put to sleep.

Two guards ran over and scooped him up under the armpits to drag him back to Meluieth's area. It was the third night in a row that the same elf had tried to run out of camp when his sedative wore off, and he woke confused.

They'd been on the journey north for four days, traveling adjacent to the Tithenduin, before turning east at the forest bridge. The party had been tense and waspish each night they set up camp beside the glittering, enchanted river, especially after Cúthon almost fell in one night. She was relieved they had passed beyond it. Now, the entire settlement of elves was camped between the bridge and the caverns, though Maethor had said they would come upon the finished sections of the new elven path by midmorning and then the caverns by nightfall.

"Are you well?" Maethor asked. He and Haedirn had taken to sleeping on each side of her when she finally tumbled onto her bedroll. Though they wouldn't admit it, she knew they stayed awake until after she fell asleep, and she stayed awake for as long as possible to keep her fëa burning for the sick elves. It worked better than any of Meluieth's tranquilizers at maintaining peace among the hoard of enchanted elves.

"I'm fine," she nodded, rubbing a hand across her tired eyes. "Let's see if Meluieth needs help."

"Maybe you should rest longer," Maethor suggested gently, his eyes full of concern.

"I'll rest when they're better," she said and picked her way through the camp to the section reserved for ten cursed elves.

Moments later, she heard it, a whisper with her new epesse. "_Rhudoleth_," the guard who'd tackled the runaway muttered to his fellow. She'd heard the nickname frequently over the past few days.

Charlotte tucked her head down and grabbed Maethor's wrist as his hand reached for a dagger. "Please, don't," she quietly begged. She knew what _Rhudoleth_ meant, not only from her Sindarin lessons but also because it was Lothuial's favorite insult. Unwelcome elleth. Charlotte felt herself collapse inward. How quickly these people had turned on her. One moment, she was a possible savior, the next: an interloper. And she deserved it.

The worst part wasn't their disdain, but Meluieth's. Thranduil had told Meluieth, Ellavorn, and Charlotte's guards about the enchantment on the river. While a part of her wished the knowledge of her loss hadn't been shared, she knew that Meluieth needed to know the specifics so she could better treat the elves, though the healer wasn't having any further luck in developing a cure or treatment. Thranduil had sent a missive to Lord Elrond before they left the settlement, requesting aid, but it would be at least a week before they would hear anything back.

The healer grew continually shorter with Charlotte as they journeyed, and, at one point, Charlotte swore the elleth heard another elf call her Rhudoleth and said nothing. Charlotte stayed to help regardless, spending the ride dazed and attempting to heal her curse, though she came no closer to healing the elves.

Maethor and Haedirn were her only regular companions. She'd distanced herself from Thranduil by her self-imposed placement in the rear with the healing wagon, and she was avoiding Legolas as well. The elfling had been through enough already; he didn't need to be immersed in the negative attention she was getting.

When Charlotte arrived at the healing wagon, Meluieth was preparing herbs for the runaway elf, angrily crushing pungent stems and blossoms beneath her stone pestle. "Just go back to sleep," the elleth said without looking at Charlotte.

Charlotte froze and felt Maethor and Haedirn tense behind her. "I can still use my light to keep them calm," she said softly.

"No, thank you."

"But—"

Meluieth's shoulders tightened though she didn't turn around. "I do not want nor need your meager assistance," Meluieth muttered, her elbow pulling up as she ground the herbs to a pulp.

Days of disdain from the elves and little sleep had worn her down, and Meluieth's biting tone ripped away what little strength remained. "I'm sorry…" she started.

Meluieth's pestle slammed on the wagon bed. "You're sorry?" she hissed. Her hands ran through her frazzled hair. She spun, glaring at Charlotte and said in a low voice, "You should be. You were supposed to help us, and now you've poisoned the river, and you can't even fix it. Figure out your damn necklace instead of moping around here with all your useless guilt."

"Meluieth, I—"

"Do not make me ask again," her teeth clenched. "Leave."

It was Maethor's warm hand on her arm that tugged her away, just as the tears surged over her lashes. She stumbled away from the elleth, blindly wandering into the forest, trying to put as much distance between her and the miserable camp.

Far beyond the hearing of the elves, she dropped to her knees, squeezing her body as if to hold it together. She didn't trust her tears, not now, not again. She'd known better than to let herself fall apart, and she'd stupidly done it anyway, and now she'd cursed innocent people and lost a friend. Maybe Meluieth had never been her friend.

Charlotte tried to put the cage back together in her mind, but then there were arms around her, a strong scent of leather enveloping her as Maethor cradled her against his frame. "She's wrong," he said, squeezing her tighter. "This isn't your fault."

"It is," Charlotte whispered. "If I hadn't— If I didn't—" She couldn't get the words out over the tightness in her throat. Tears fought their way down her cheeks, and more slipped out from anger. She used to control this, contain it, and somewhere in Middle Earth, she'd lost that ability.

Maethor held her while she silently cried, biting down on her lip to contain the worst of it. Haedirn resolutely stood watch, one hand resting on his dagger. When she was too exhausted to deal with anymore, Maethor tugged her to her feet and gently directed her back to camp and her bedroll with a firm hand on her back.

As she settled on her side, her body curled into itself, she sought Maethor's calm eyes. "Rest," he said, his voice husky. "We'll keep guard."

"I'd be happier if you slept too," she whispered. Her eyes were burning. Her lip chewed raw until it cracked and bled.

"I'll pretend," he smiled, soft and reassuring, "just for you."

Charlotte found herself reaching out to clasp his hand, desperate for connection. "Thank you," she whispered and let her swollen eyes close. Maethor kept her hand safely ensconced in his for the remainder of the night.

The following day was miserable. She mostly ignored the worried glances her guards exchanged over her head as she rode three horse lengths behind the healing wagon. Despite the gaping distance, her light still worked, and the glazed-eyed enchanted elves tracked her fëa eagerly.

Elven flashlight. Glorified glow-stick. That's what she was. All she was. She hardly looked like a Valar-heroine. She'd been riding in the back of the party for days, trudging through the clouds of dust kicked up by the wagons and horses, and she hadn't slept much since Thranduil had figured out that she'd cursed the river and they rushed back to the settlement, abandoning their lunch and training.

She tried again and again on the ride, begging her necklace to activate, but whatever power it possessed, she had no access to it. She was so focused on the stone that she didn't notice groups of elves peeling away from the party.

"Look," Haedirn said, drawing her attention to the trees ahead.

High in the branches, on spacious round platforms wrapped around the tree trunks, were beautiful wood houses with domed roofs and arched windows. Wide walkways without railings connected the platforms, and near the bases of the broad beeches were similar cottages made of stone and decorated with the chiseled vines and arched windows popular in elven architecture.

"How do they get up there?" Charlotte wondered aloud.

Maethor pointed to a tree further back, "See there? Around the trunk?"

Stairs whirled around one of the center trees, high up to an open platform that branched off to connect the various houses.

"They are called telain. Or a talan, if you're only referring to one," Maethor explained, pointing to the thick wood platforms around the trunks. "They're common in Lórinand as well, since they're predominantly a Silvan population, and the Noldor and Sindarin elves have adopted the same style in that realm."

She tried to picture Amroth living in a treehouse and failed, and then she remembered sweet Celebrían would have lived in one of these talan houses as well. She wondered which style the elleth preferred: the breezy, open talan in the woods or the stone manor in the mountains. When Charlotte finally got to write the elleth a letter, she would ask her.

The traveling party dwindled, elves detaching from the leading group to move into the cottages and telain. Three elves directed the crowd to their homes, and lines began to form of ellyn and ellith, their belongings strapped to their horses and bodies. According to Thranduil, most of their possessions had been sent upriver before the Tithenduin had been enchanted, and from the looks of things, those belongings had already been delivered to their owner's homes.

Soon, only the royal family, the guards, and the various palace staff remained. Of course, Meluieth and her charges and Charlotte and her guards made up the party's rear.

As they passed beyond the telain and cottages, the ground climbed upward, the angle slowly revealing five curved double doors embedded into the side of the mountain. Thick rounded columns, carved to resemble trees with interlocked roots and branches, supported a great half-dome chiseled from the mountain's overhang, and the Forest River churned far below the caverns. Only a stone bridge with no parapet connected the forest to the mountain.

Thranduil and Legolas led the party across the bridge to the teal doorway, the hooves of their horses clacking against the stone. Then came the guards and Meluieth's wagon, which fit perfectly between the edges. Charlotte didn't want to think about how terrible things could have gone if it were slightly too far to one side at any point.

Berior was the last to cross, and though he didn't hesitate, Charlotte still didn't like the feeling of being suspended above a rushing river with no walls to stop her from falling. Thankfully, Maethor sensed this and kept as close to her as Berior's enormous antlers permitted.

The sick elves were unloaded by guards and carried into the caverns first, and Meluieth disappeared with them. As Charlotte watched the elleth ordering guards and organizing patients, she wondered if she'd see the healer again after this, or if their relationship, whatever it had been, had ended with Charlotte's possible usefulness.

The thought made her body feel cold and tired, and she held back as the elves trickled into the caverns, leaving their horses behind to be escorted up a side entrance.

Maethor was very aware of her flickering emotions. He nudged her gently with his elbow, and his gravelly voice said, "Would you like for us to show you the stables?"

She nodded, grateful for a chance to delay facing more of Eryn Galen's citizens. Maethor and Haedirn directed her to the left of the entrance, where two of the turquoise doors swung out to expose a tunnel through the mountain, blessedly wide enough for Berior's antlers.

Berior didn't need coaxing. He entered the dim passageway, lit only by sconces dangling from the vaulted ceiling on long chains. The clopping sounds of the horses and Berior echoed off the rough walls of the mountain, and the tunnel sloped upward until a tiny pinprick of light appeared. At first, it was so small, she blinked, and it vanished into the darkness, but as they climbed, it grew until it was a gaping hole in the mountainside that let out into a grassy bowl.

The mountain curved in reaching spires around the field, protecting it from outside viewers, and Charlotte felt like she was sitting at the bottom of a birdcage. On the far side, doors wide enough for two horses had been cut from the mountain, and the elven steeds were led inside.

The stable consisted of a single corridor with stalls on either side. Columns, carved like those at the cavern's entrance, marched in twos to the rear of the stable, and Maethor led her halfway down the row before he stopped them in front of a Berior-sized stall.

It looked like it had been two stalls at one point, but someone had removed the dividing wood and switched the single-door gate to a double. Fresh straw was already spread across the floor, and Thranduil's horse, Belegroch, happily munched on oats in the adjacent enclosure. Berior looked disgruntled about his accommodations but allowed them to lead him into his new housing with quiet dignity.

"I promise you," Charlotte told him as she brushed out his thinning coat, "I will visit as often as I can. I'll take you out into the forest every day if I'm able."

Berior pressed his forehead against hers and huffed a breath across her face. She worried he'd grow weaker trapped in the mountain. Already, he seemed smaller somehow. Maybe she owed him a change of scenery.

"I need to fix my mess," she said, "and then we can go wherever we want."

She wasn't sure how to take his answering head shake.

Charlotte spent the hours afterward with Maethor and Haedirn, who were both happy to give her a tour of the caverns. Her guards walked her back to the front of the cavern, with Haedirn insisting, "You need to see it for the first time from the main entrance, not some dark hidden stairwell."

Charlotte was thankful for his intervention when she walked into the caverns. The main teal doors opened into a circular entrance chamber with towering ceilings supported by the same chiseled columns. Corridors, lit with rounded sconces like glowing bubbles, branched off on each side, but Maethor and Haedirn led her under the elaborate archway across from the entrance.

Her breath left in a whoosh. She stood on the edge of an enormous cavern, with walkways carved like roots twisting through the vast space. Stalactites descended from the dark ceilings high above her, and in the upper walkways, there were arched openings where palace elves fluttered between the columns, utterly unconcerned by the lack of railings and the awaiting plunge to the bottom.

Maethor held an arm out for her, and she gladly took it, allowing him to escort her carefully across the winding path to the rock island in the center of the cavern. As she got closer, she could make out a set of stone stairs leading up to a broad platform: Thranduil's throne. She was expecting something more ornate than the high-backed, smooth, wooden chair in the center, though the back had been carved with the interlocking trees. A smaller identical throne sat on its left, and Charlotte chuckled as she pictured sweet Legolas perched atop it.

"I've hardly seen anything, and already I'm in love," she said honestly. "I never imagined a cave would be so warm and spacious."

"The elves will be pleased you like their work," Haedirn said, stepping beside her. Somehow Charlotte doubted the elves would be pleased by anything she thought unless she thought to leave.

That caught her for a moment, and she pretended to study the cavern to hide the whirling in her brain. Should she go? She was obviously unwelcome. Her body tensed at the word. Rhudoleth. It echoed in her mind. Rhudoleth. Unwelcome. Meluieth's harsh words joined the fray. Maybe it was time to take Beorn or Amroth up on their offer. As beautiful as this place was, it became clearer each day that she would continually be forced to prove she belonged.

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. She was tired of fighting for space in the world. Sick of being forced to pay rent for existing, with her wellbeing as currency. Her spine hardened. Berior didn't seem to like it here anyway. Her feet turned to carry her back to her elk. Her few belongings were already in her pack, slung over her shoulders, and she was sure they could be halfway to the forest bridge by nightfall if they left soon and rode hard.

With shame, she tossed the thought aside. She would not leave the elves until she had healed her curse. Once that was done, she could disappear, quiet as a whisper, just as they wished.

Legolas and Thranduil popped into her mind. She wasn't sure how they fit into everything. Legolas wanted her, of course, but Legolas was kindness incarnate. Now she understood what Thranduil had meant when he said he wanted Legolas to like him versus "not hate" him.

Maethor rested a hand on her shoulder and said, "It's been a long journey. Would you prefer to save the rest for another day? We can show you to your chambers?"

Charlotte shot him a grateful smile and nodded. Her body felt empty, and sleep sounded like a great idea. She didn't want to be awake at the moment.

Haedirn stopped her from turning to the entrance with a hand at her elbow. "There's a hidden stairwell behind the throne," he said, guiding her behind the towering pedestal to where an arched opening was tucked in the jutting cavern wall.

The stairs curled upward, and Charlotte counted the rotations to keep her other thoughts at bay. Maethor and Haedirn were respectful of her quiet mood, and without their usual lively conversation, they were silent as they tiptoed up the stairs. She'd feel better after some rest, and then she could go back to figuring out the cursed necklace she'd been gifted. _Mother, what did you give me? _

Her day got worse when she reached the top of the stairs and stepped from behind a tapestry depicting a golden-haired, elven warrior battling an enormous dragon. The ellon's sword rose high above his head, pointed toward the heart of the raging beast. The dragon's spiked head tilted back, its maw filled with scorching flames, and Charlotte was sure that the ellon was about to be crisped. She wished the dragon would spring to life and eat Lothuial, who was slowly making her way down the corridor, her head close to Eithoril's as she angrily whispered. It sounded like a snake hissing.

The ellith hadn't noticed her yet, since their backs were to her, and Charlotte hoped it would stay that way. Her eyes pretended to study the tapestry, praying they didn't look over their shoulders, and Maethor and Haedirn held perfectly still beside her, determined to shield her presence.

"The gown must be done by next week," Lothuial hissed to her lady's maid. "Tell the seamstress that I want a final fitting before the wedding, and see if you can get an update on the flowers I requested from _Lórinand_. My wedding will be greater than even Lady Celebrían's. Not that it would be difficult; she's a bit simple, you know. Although, she did manage to snare a Noldor lord, so maybe she's more ambitious than she first appears."

Eithoril hummed and nodded dutifully. Charlotte debated slinking into the passageway again but decided that the three of them shifting under the tapestry would definitely gain attention and alert the ellith to the hidden stairwell.

"Just consider," Lothuial sniffed, "how quickly she latched on to that horrible, uncouth mortal. The daughter of the Lady Galadriel with that wretched little imposter. That creature will be meeting her end so enough. Such a shame, I had hoped she'd bear witness to our wedding."

Eithoril knocked at the grand doors, and Charlotte heard a familiar, deep voice bark, "Enter!" Both ellith slipped gracefully inside, and Charlotte swore the soft thud of the closing doors echoed in her heart.

"Those are Thranduil's rooms," Charlotte said, though she wasn't expecting a reply.

Maethor and Haedirn exchanged glances over her head before Haedirn slowly nodded. "Yes, my lady."

"Fascinating." Something was chipping inside her. She'd tried to keep her faith in Thranduil, but now dresses were being sewn and flowers ordered, and Lothuial was in his private chambers.

Charlotte was extremely grateful she'd never asked him how he felt about her. She'd been foolish enough to believe Meluieth was a friend, but the elleth had shredded her as soon as she lacked usefulness. Was Thranduil the same? Maybe not maliciously, but a concerned king trying to protect his people any way he could?

"I think," Charlotte murmured, her mind replaying the insulting epesse, Meluieth's angry words, and the thudding doors to Thranduil's chambers, "I'm going to rest for a while."

Maethor surprisingly squeezed her hand, escorting her to her chambers on the opposite end of the hall, far away from Thranduil. "I'll be waiting right outside should you need me," he said, and she thanked him before he softly pulled her door shut.

* * *

Translations:

_Rhudoleth_— Unwelcome one / Unwelcome elleth

AN: Telain in the Greenwood are possibly canon based off Chapter 8: "Flies and Spiders" from _The Hobbit_. "In fact the subjects of the king mostly lived and hunted in the open woods, and had houses or huts on the ground and in the branches."

Thank you all for your wonderfully kind reviews! I treasure your words and I hope to have another chapter out to you soon.


	26. A Neat Little Trap

Charlotte set the feather quill on her small writing desk and stretched her back. Though the letters were scratchy and wobbly, they were legible, and she would be able to send them as soon as the last missive dried.

She stood, pulling the dressing gown tighter around her frame and pacing to the window where the midmorning sun peeked through. Waterfalls rumbled in the distance, feeding the river carving through the mountain below and adding to the chill of the smooth rock beneath her bare feet. She usually would shy away from the cold, but the biting against her skin centered her, and she craved focus and concentration. Her mind was foggy and dim, like she wasn't looking out of her own glassy eyes but instead curled behind the darkened peepholes, shrouded in the blackness.

Thranduil was getting married. To Lothuial.

She hadn't realized until that moment, standing in the hallway like a ghost while Lothuial dictated the upcoming nuptials, how intensely she'd grown to cherish her time with Thranduil.

And now it would all be coming to an end.

Lothuial had been clear about her distaste for Charlotte from the beginning, and Cúthon had it in for her as well. Friendship with Thranduil would not save her from them after the wedding, and Charlotte would be lucky if they shipped her off with supplies, rather than tossing her out into the winter with nothing.

She shook her head to dislodge her thoughts. That was precisely why she didn't show up to breakfast, the reason she had pretended to be asleep when Ellavorn had come knocking early in the day. Under normal circumstances, Ellavorn would've tossed Elven propriety out of the window and barged in to drag her from the depths of her bed, ushering her out onto the training field with nary a "good morning."

Except now, she had Maethor and Haedirn, who took their guard positions seriously. She'd shoved her thin blanket over her head while she heard Maethor murmuring to Ellavorn outside of her door, and whatever he said had magically made the captain vanish. He'd come back an hour later, and she'd heard Maethor practically growl, "Absolutely not!" But her door remained closed, and Ellavorn left.

She'd need to bake her guards a "thank you" cake.

Hours passed with her wallowing in self-pity, before she crawled out of bed and decided to pass the time more productively by responding to the few people in Middle Earth who currently didn't despise her. Her letters were brief, and in Common Tongue, and she hoped that Amroth could read his. She'd never asked him if he could _read _the language, though she knew he could speak it.

The letters lacked anything of importance anyway. Celebrían and Amroth already knew about the enchantment on the river from Thranduil's letters, though perhaps not the cause, and Beorn would likely know already since he seemed to be in constant communication with the animals in the Wilderland.

She gently poked her signature on the bottom of his letter to see if it had dried and then rolled it up, sealing it with an unmarked blob of deep blue wax she'd borrowed from Haedirn. Now she just had to slip out and mail them.

If she were at home, her current mood would mean yoga pants and an old t-shirt, so she went with the Middle Earth equivalent while getting dressed and threw on an oversized tunic and the leggings she favored. Now that she had settled in _Eryn Galen_, she was probably supposed to wear dresses like Celebrían, but as far as she was concerned, everyone already hated her anyway; she might as well be comfortable.

Maethor's face was the first she saw when she cracked open her door. His dark eyes creased with concern, and he whispered, "Good morning, my lady."

She knew he did it just to raise a smile from her, so she humored him and forced her lips to turn upward. "You know I prefer just 'Charlotte.'"

"Of course, my lady."

Haedirn stood on the opposite side of her door, the silver ring in his dark hair glinting in the lights from the orbs lining the hall. For once, his plush mouth pressed into a tight line, and displeasure etched in his eyes as he glared at the ornate double doors that separated the royal chambers from the visiting dignitaries. Her heart swelled at their loyalty to her, even though a small part felt guilty that they carried anger toward Thranduil for something as unfair as unrequited feelings. She should probably try to fix that.

"Good morning," she said to Haedirn, gently placing a hand on his tensed forearm. His eyes drooped at the corners as he turned to her, pity and compassion mingling in his gaze. Her heart swooped at the sight. She wasn't sure what she had done to earn their friendship, but she would be forever grateful for it. "Would either of you know how to send out a letter? Or three?" She asked, fanning the three rolls of parchment out for them to see. "Ellavorn mentioned the birds could be bitey, and I don't know where they are or how to get them to carry these."

Meluieth was supposed to teach her, but the other elleth hadn't spoken a single word to Charlotte since their altercation during the journey north, and Charlotte didn't dare go near the healing halls until she had a better idea of how to activate her traitorous necklace.

The necklace hadn't so much as glittered since her disastrous picnic with Thranduil, and as the days passed, the stone grew cold against her skin. She glanced down at it, studying the pale, lifeless teardrop diamond. Useless.

A pair of snickering ellith popped out of the double doors at the end of the hall, and Charlotte felt her shoulders collapse. Lothuial's glee at spotting Charlotte made her stomach twist.

"Get me out of here," Charlotte whispered to her two guards, hoping Lothuial and Eithoril couldn't hear her.

Her guards were already on it though. Maethor extended his arm to her, and Haedirn took her other side. Charlotte felt Lothuial's stare like daggers in her spine until the guards took her down the main stairwell beyond the elleth's view.

They were silent as they followed the curve of the stairs burrowing into the mountain. The entrance hall at the bottom was empty, and Maethor ushered her through another enormous archway into a great hall with long tables leading up to a raised dais. They passed unnoticed by the few stragglers milling about and descended another set of stairs.

"I thought we'd be going up," Charlotte said, raising a brow at her stern counterpart.

"We will," Maethor said. He squeezed her hand on his arm. "I've been guarding your door all morning. I know you haven't eaten, and so does Idhrenes."

"I believe," Haedirn's mouth twisted, though his eyes glittered with amusement, "her exact words this morning were, 'either you bring the elleth to me, or I'll fetch her myself.' And neither Maethor nor I would like to be rapped on the head with a wooden spoon again. She's fierce as a dragon that one." He rubbed his head as if to push away an echo of pain.

"Well, I would hate to cause further damage," Charlotte said, trying to gather an ounce of their usual teasing repertoire. She must've failed spectacularly, because she caught them exchanging worried glances over her head, silently trading thoughts.

"After that, we'll send your messages," Haedirn said as if there hadn't been a lull in the conversation. "And then there's someone, actually two someones, impatiently waiting for you on the training field."

That thought perked her up. Whereas she was in no mental place to practice with Ellavorn after she'd first woken, she'd had some time to center and pull herself together, burying her many failures over the past weeks deep into her mind. It was time for her to be human— elven— and move on with life.

She didn't belong here anyway. So it didn't matter, in the end, whether or not the elves liked her. Didn't matter whether or not _he _liked her. She would try to fix the mess she made and then go on her way. To where? She wasn't sure.

The kitchen was cozy and warm when they entered, permeated by the symphony of pots banging and the steady thunk of knives slicing through fragrant herbs and colorful vegetables. It didn't take more than a second before Idhrenes was wrapping her in a crushing hug and Charlotte's shoulders heaved at the maternal embrace. She was so tired. So numb to it all.

Idhrenes pulled back and studied her face, and the cook's furrowed brows and thin frown indicated that she wasn't pleased with what she saw. "You'll see me tonight," she said, and it sounded like an order. "And if I don't see you at dinner, you'll see me sooner."

A threat and an order. Usually, Charlotte would chafe at such a thing, but she didn't have it in her at the moment, and she knew Idhrenes was coming from a genuine place.

Maybe everyone didn't hate her after all. Just _mostly_ everyone. Still, Idhrenes's firm tone was exactly what she needed. She wasn't this woman— elleth, whatever. So what if some people hated her, and her first friend in Middle Earth abandoned her, and the man she was slowly growing to_... _She cut the thought off. It didn't matter what she was maybe starting to feel; he was getting married.

Idhrenes shoved a heavy woven picnic basket into her hands and winked. "You're going to need this," she said. "I packed more of those pumpkin seeds we made together. I saw you never got to eat the ones from your last outing." And then she was forcing a second basket on Haedirn, before adding to Charlotte, "Some sun will do you good. You're looking peaky after being caged in your chambers all morning, and I'm sure an afternoon practicing on the training field will help mend your fëa.

Charlotte raised a brow at her odd behavior, but said, "I'll stop by after I mail these." She held up the scrolls messily sealed with wax, each bearing the name of their recipient.

"Galion!" Idhrenes barked, not bothering to turn her head.

Charlotte heard a thunk, and then Meluieth's brother was scurrying down one of the corridors leading away from the kitchen. As she watched, he staggered to the side and barely caught the wall before he fell.

Haedirn scoffed, "It's not even lunch, and he's already into Thranduil's wine."

Maethor tightened his arm on Charlotte and made a "hmph" sound. "I'd rather not leave the lady's messages with an elf in his cups," he said to Idhrenes.

"In his cups or out, nothing slips past Galion." Idhrenes propped her hands on her hips.

"Not yet, at least," Haedirn muttered.

"And if he doesn't want Thranduil knowing that he drank the bottle of Dorwinion from the Lady Celebrían," Idhrenes threatened, "he'll continue his excellent work. Now Galion will send your messages, and you three can move along to the training fields." She scooped the letters from Charlotte's hand and shooed them all out. "I'll see you all at dinner," she warned as she ushered them out of the kitchen.

"I guess," Charlotte said, "we're going to the training fields then. I need to check on Berior anyway. Would you both be interested in a ride in the forest? I promised him I would take him out if I could."

"I'm sure it could be arranged," Maethor said and shot a glance at Haedirn, who bit his lip before finally nodding.

Charlotte knew they were all up to something. How could she not, with all of them insisting she go to the training grounds? But she wasn't prepared to step onto the field to see _him_.

All around her, ellyn faced off in pairs, swords dancing and clashing. An archery range had been established to the east of the bowl, and lines of ellyn fired into hay-stuffed dummies positioned near the crags. She heard the twang of their bows in time with her thundering heart.

Watching a small blond elfling fire arrow after arrow into a training dummy at the end of the row was Thranduil. His blond hair glowed in the sunlight, shining against his silver tunic. His eyes snapped to her almost as if he'd been watching, waiting for her to arrive, and with a glance at her guilty guards, she realized he had been.

They stood frozen, eyes caught across the distance, each waiting for the other to move. _Turn around_, her cracking heart whispered, _you don't have to do this to yourself. _ But at the same time, she heard the quiet hum, _but I want to._

For someone prepared for her arrival, Thranduil seemed equally conflicted. His mouth opened once before he snapped it closed again. She saw the shifting of his weight, the indecision in his pale eyes as he tried to determine his next move. She stepped backward, and he matched her. The insane idea skittered across her mind: if she ran, would he give chase?

Legolas decided for them.

"Charlotte!" The elfling thrust his bow at his stunned adar and raced across the field to launch himself at her. She scrambled to catch him in time, dropping to her knees to keep from completely falling over.

Thranduil shook his head, though his lips twitched. "_Ion nin, _a prince is gentle," he said.

Legolas dropped his head and moved to step away, but Charlotte tightened her hold and hugged him fiercely. "It would please me to always be greeted with such exuberance and affection." She grinned at him, her chest warm as she watched his smile beaming at her.

The elfling needed no further invitation and regaled her with the entirety of his morning, from what he had for breakfast, to his sword lessons with Ellavorn, and his archery practice with his adar. "Adar took me to see Berior as well!" He chirped, bouncing on his toes before her. "He looks bored. We should go for a ride in the forest with him! It's been days since I've seen him. Or you. Where have you been? Why haven't you been riding with us?"

Charlotte gaped at him, "I— uh, I'm..."

"Charlotte was helping Meluieth with the healing wagon," Maethor cut in. Charlotte sent him a grateful smile. She wasn't sure her failures counted as "helping," but Legolas seemed satisfied by the answer.

"Berior said he's grumpy and wants to go for a ride," he insisted.

"_Berior_ said that did he?" Charlotte laughed.

"Well, not exactly," Legolas rubbed his neck, "but he obviously wants to because he's so big, and his stall is small, and Rocher says he keeps breaking out and trying to get into the caves. Please, say you will?" He turned to Thranduil, and Charlotte felt her stomach drop at the neat little trap. "Please, Adar?"

Thranduil, to his credit, made a fair impression of thinking it over. "I suppose a one afternoon off your lessons wouldn't hurt."

"Woohoo!" Legolas cheered, bouncing on his toes.

"Legolas," Thranduil sighed, pinching between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, "a prince does not 'woohoo.'"

"Sorry, Adar." Legolas slumped for a brief moment, like a kite on the wind, soaring upwards in glee after a quick dip. "Can I bring my bow?" He asked eagerly.

Charlotte laughed and said, "I'll prepare Berior. You two can sort yourselves out and meet us when you're ready."

It wasn't long before she had a cheerful Berior trotting through the side passageway that let out at the main cavern gate into the afternoon sun. The cool autumn breeze rustled what few leaves remained on the trees, and the horse hooves crunched and crackled the golden leaves carpeting the forest. Maethor and Haedirn rode ahead on their chestnut stallions, leading them over the bridge before turning west to travel along the Forest River, riding away from the Elven settlement.

They were far enough north that spiders shouldn't be a problem, but Charlotte was still surprised Thranduil had left the caverns without his faithful captain.

He shrugged when she asked about it. "I'm the Elvenking," he said as if it was sufficient explanation.

"Wouldn't that mean you should definitely have at least one guard on you at all times?"

"Even if I should, which I do not," he said, "I can always command Ellavorn stay behind."

"And did you?"

Thranduil raised an elegant brow at her. "I did." He didn't seem inclined to explain, and Charlotte figured he wouldn't tell her anyway, so she let it drop.

"Maethor and Haedirn are adequate protection enough, should I require it," he said, "but considering I've increased the patrols along our northern border and I'm almost as old as Maethor and connected to the forest, it is unlikely. A better way of looking at it would be you and Legolas have three guards today."

Berior snorted.

"My apologies," Thranduil placed a graceful hand on his chest and gave a slight bow to the elk beside him. "Four guards for you and Legolas."

Berior jerked his head at the correction and pushed onward. The elk glided through the forest, like something out of a fairytale, regal and mystical. Still, Charlotte worried that maybe she shouldn't have taken him out. Her fingers wove through the elk's thinning hair, and she bit her lip. She'd asked Berior if he wanted to go for a ride, and he'd seemed thrilled with the idea, but now she worried he was being reckless.

"Did Rocher have a chance to examine Berior again?" Charlotte asked. She noticed Legolas and the guards were getting further ahead, but it was for the best. If Berior was ill, she didn't want Legolas to find out by overhearing.

Thranduil nodded and glanced over the elk. "I spoke to Rocher this morning. He said Berior is showing no other signs of illness, save for the thinning hair. Berior is in peak condition otherwise."

Berior pulled his antlers higher, smug with the pronouncement, but Charlotte chewed her lip. Maybe Rocher was wrong? Something had to be causing it. "Are you just getting old then, big guy?" She gently ran a hand down the elk's neck.

Berior snorted again, and Charlotte chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes. On the plus side," she grinned mischievously at the Elvenking beside her, "you are much younger than this guy."

The elk lurched to a stop and snorted.

"Wonderful," Thranduil frowned, though she could tell he was faking it, "Now you're both laughing at me."

"I _feel_ old," Charlotte said, "if that helps."

Thranduil looked her over, his silver eyes traveling from her braided hair, down her neck, trailing down her body until he reached the soft leather boots enveloping her toes. Heat burned beneath her skin.

"May I ask," he said finally, his soft eyes capturing hers, "how old were you before you landed here?"

Charlotte caught his actual meaning, but answered anyway, "Twenty-seven." Stars above, he probably thought she was an elfling.

"It must be a hard world," he whispered, "where a twenty-seven-year-old human woman holds thousands of years in her eyes."

"Not so bad," she shrugged. "My world and yours are not as different as I once thought."

And it was true. There was war, heartbreak, friendship, and betrayal in Middle Earth as much as in her modern-day Virginia. "Same battle, different time period." She gave him a weak smile.

His eyes still studied hers, searching for something, and he opened his mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut with a sigh. "We should be there soon."

"There" turned out to be a small clearing near the Forest River, ringed in towering beech trees that were thick enough to hold the telain she'd seen in the Elven settlement. Her guards quickly vanished to establish a perimeter, and Berior wandered into the forest, which left Charlotte uncomfortably settled with Legolas and Thranduil on a wide blanket with a spread of cheeses, bread, roasted meats, and a small bowl of golden seeds.

Thranduil popped one of the seeds into his mouth with a groan, and she felt something in her stomach tighten. "These," he moaned, "are delicious. I've never had them before. I wonder what they are?"

"Pumpkin seeds." Her voice came out higher than she intended, and she coughed to clear it.

"Odd," he said. "Idhrenes must be experimenting again." He popped another seed into his mouth while Charlotte held back a laugh.

"I'm glad you like them," she said.

"I love them!" Legolas dropped three more into his mouth like a little golden bird. Charlotte was eternally grateful for his presence, not only because she had missed him terribly, but it alleviated some of her anxiety about being out with an engaged ellon.

"Next time you make them, can I help?" Legolas asked. He shoved more seeds in his mouth without waiting for an answer, but Thranduil froze beside her.

"I should've known," Thranduil said, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Please tell me you haven't been working in the kitchens."

Charlotte bit her lip to hold back a smile, "It hasn't exactly been a secret, Mr. I-know-everything-that-happens-in-my-forest." Her smile fell, and she twisted a loose thread on the blanket. "Besides, what's wrong with me helping in the kitchen every now and then? I'm less likely to break anything there. I at least know my way around a kitchen."

"That's not what I meant," Thranduil pinched his lips. "I'm hardly concerned about you breaking anything in a kitchen."

"But you are worried about me breaking other things?"

"Does anybody want to shoot my bow with me?" Legolas said. Something about his chipper voice seemed forced. "No? How about a swim in the river?" His eyes blew wide with panic as he realized what he'd said. "I mean the Forest River, not the enchanted one. Of course, I wouldn't want us to swim there, because, I mean... I, uh..."

"It's okay, _ion nin_," Thranduil sighed and forced his lips to smile. "Your suggestion is a good one."

"Really?"

Thranduil nodded his head, and without turning, called out for Haedirn. The elf dropped from the foliage and bowed lowly, quietly waiting for orders. "Haedirn, would you mind taking Legolas into the trees with you and Maethor? Show him some of the patrol procedures and take him for a canopy run."

Haedirn darted his eyes to Charlotte and opened his mouth, but Thranduil cut him off. "She'll be guarded well. This is my vow."

Her guard hesitated a moment longer before he nodded stiffly, and she watched as he escorted Legolas into the nearest beech tree. She was surprised Haedirn tried to fight the order and even further astonished that Thranduil had almost allowed it. They were silent until Thranduil breathed a heavy sigh and said, "They have traveled far enough that we shouldn't be overheard."

"I'm surprised they actually left."

Thranduil scoffed and ran a hand through his hair. "If he were any other elf, he'd be on the southern borders for a week for that kind of dissension."

"So why isn't he?"

The Elvenking's brows rose in surprise before he seemed to come to some conclusion. "That is not for me to say. It would have been within their power to refuse my order if they decided to do so. But I'll admit, part of my design in bringing us for this ride was to speak with you alone."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable being alone with you," she admitted.

Thranduil's mouth dropped as if he'd been struck. "You do not feel safe with me?"

"Oh, no! I didn't mean—" She took a deep breath and tried again. "It's just not... it's not proper for me to be out, alone, with you."

"And why not?"

"What do you mean 'why not?'"

His lips pinched, and he rolled up to his feet. "Is it because I'm the king? Because—"

"No!" She rose, standing toe-to-toe with him, though her head was barely above his shoulder. "I've never seen you as _just _a king. That's entirely unfair to both of us."

He huffed and glanced away for a moment. His silver eyes closed as all the air left his body, "I know. I apologize. It's one of the things I adore about you."

She felt fluttering in her abdomen but quickly buried it under anger. "That! That's why I can't be alone with you. You can't say things like that to me. Not now."

"That confirms my first question then," He said with a self-deprecating smile. "You did overhear us the other day."

Charlotte sighed. "I wasn't eavesdropping." But then she thought it over and said, "Actually, I'm sorry. I was. Not at first, but... you know, _after_."

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing in frustration for a moment before they focused on hers. "I've mentioned to you before that Cúthon is almost considered royalty among the Silvan elves?"

"He's the oldest."

"The second oldest," Thranduil clarified. "There's one older elf, far more beloved and feared than Cúthon, but this elf prefers a quiet life, and I refuse to drag her out for my own selfish gain."

"What does this have to do with your betrothal?"

"I'm not betrothed," he insisted, stepping closer. He frowned when she stepped away. "Whispers are spreading about my failure to fulfill the betrothal with Nemir. Cúthon is using it to pressure me into another alliance. With the curse on the river, the premature move to the caverns, orcs scuttling through the Grey Mountains, and spiders crawling up from the south, I'm fighting for stability, and Cúthon knows it." He ran a hand through his hair and paced.

She wanted to comfort him, wanted to bridge the divide between them. But Charlotte bit her lip, hesitating.

"He thinks I don't realize what he's doing," Thranduil growled. "But I _will not_ be led like a stallion for breeding again. Not when..." he turned. His eyes softened as he captured her gaze.

"Not when?"

But Thranduil tensed, his head darting to the trees. His brows knotted in confusion before his eyes widened. "Get into the branches," he whispered.

"What?"

But he had already grabbed her hand, rushing her to the nearest beech tree. She balked. "Thranduil, I don't know how to climb these!"

He lifted her to the first branch, but she was too short to reach the next. Thranduil cursed, and she could see the indecision in his eyes. "Stay here," he insisted and pulled his twin blades from Belegroch's saddle just as two orcs came rushing out of the trees.

Thranduil spun between them, slashing and flicking their blades, luring the orcs away from Charlotte's tree. She knew he could take them both out easily, but he was delaying it for some reason. Distracted with his opponents, he didn't see the third orc peeling from trees, heading straight for her.

Charlotte dove her hand into her boot and whipped out Amroth's dagger. Mind racing over everything Ellavorn had drilled into her, she jumped off the branch before the orc could trap her.

The creature was stunned by the move, enough that she dove under his sword and came up slashing across his throat, the dagger cutting deep at the same time she heard a _thunk!_ His body jerked, and he dropped to the forest floor, his sword clattering beside him and the shaft of an arrow jutting from his neck.

Her eyes frantically searched the branches and found a pale-faced Legolas pulling back the string to his bow, another arrow aimed behind her. Maethor and Haedirn dropped from the trees, just as the second arrow whizzed by, lodging firmly in another orc's neck.

Thranduil's shock nearly cost him. He stuttered in his dance, picking up just in time to avoid the arc of his final attacker's sword, and then brought the pommel down hard on the orc's skull.

Legolas dropped his bow to his side, and Charlotte could see his small hands shaking. "Legolas?" She called. "I can't climb to you, sweetheart. Can you come down?"

He jerked his head, scrambling clumsily from the tree until his feet slammed on the ground, and then he was running into her arms.

Charlotte felt her heart drop into her stomach with relief. "You're okay," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him as he shook. "You were so brave, little leaf. I'm so proud of you."

"Maethor felt your fear," Legolas cried into her shoulder. "I was so scared we wouldn't make it back in time."

"I know," she soothed and ran her hands down his hair. She filed away the idea of Maethor somehow sensing her emotions. "I know. There were only three of them. Your adar had it well covered."

"So did you," Haedirn said, and she glanced up to find him standing guard over them, his sword still out. "Ellavorn will be pleased."

Charlotte jokingly scoffed. "I was hardly needed since Legolas got there first."

"It was quite a shot," Haedirn agreed.

"Really?" Legolas peeked out from beneath her arms, his eyes wide with hope.

"I would have to agree, _ion nin_," Thranduil said as he joined them. Maethor was tying the last orc to a tree trunk, and Charlotte realized that Thranduil didn't kill the orcs immediately because he wanted one alive.

Thranduil kneeled beside them, resting a warm hand on Legolas's shoulder. "There is no prouder Adar in all of Middle Earth."

Legolas beamed and threw himself into Thranduil's arms. She felt moisture pooling along her lashes at the surprised joy that lit Thranduil's face. His wide eyes took in the little blond elfling in his arms, and his mouth stretched until he was beaming.

It was breathtaking.

Maethor coughed behind her, and she stood. The orc against the tree was slowly stirring, his body tensing against the ropes that held him. Thranduil pulled away from Legolas and said, "Take care of Charlotte on the way back. Haedirn will escort you two to the caverns."

"But, Adar, I want to stay. I can help!"

Thranduil's mouth pressed into a firm line. "There will come a time where you must do what I have to do next. For now, I need you to remember that a prince obeys his king. Take Charlotte home for me."

"Yes, Adar."

Legolas took his oath seriously and stuck closely to her side once they'd rounded up the wandering elk and horses, though she could tell he partially clung to her because _he_ needed her too. Berior sensed it as well and nudged Legolas until the elfling climbed onto the elk instead of his own horse.

Charlotte tried to catch Thranduil's eye before they left, but he stayed resolutely turned, his entire focus on the last living orc tied to the tree. As they galloped away, she saw Maethor pull a dagger from his belt, and she finally realized what his responsibilities were before she came along.

They weren't far enough away before the screams started.

The orc's only coherent sentence haunted her all the way back. "He's coming for her," the creature screamed with glee before the painful cries took over.

* * *

AN: Inspiration comes from interesting places. One of the original inspirations for this story was a meme that used a scene from Disney's Bambi II with Legolas and Thranduil. The lines: "Woohoo" and "A prince does not 'woo hoo'" are from the Bambi film. It made me think about the struggle Thranduil must have faced when he lost his wife and his father at that same time he assumed responsibility for reigning a kingdom while learning how to raise his son. And so one of the pillars of this story was born. So hopefully you like the new chapter! I hope to have another one out to you soon!


	27. Theft and Betrayal

The thundering of hooves made her tighten her arm around Legolas and clutch a fistful of Berior's fur. Orcs didn't ride horses, right? She pressed her leg against her elk, feeling the comforting weight of Amroth's dagger in her boot. Her eyes darted to Haedirn, relaxing at his relieved expression

They were halfway between the clearing and the caverns, with the Forest River roaring at their side. With only Haedirn to guard both her and Legolas, another orc encounter could have been deadly.

Thankfully, it wasn't a party of orcs that burst through the forest, but a group of ten Elven warriors, all outfitted in the green and grey uniforms of _ Eryn Galen. _Their leader frantically pulled the party to a stop, dismounting to avoid upsetting Berior, even as his eyes scanned over both Charlotte and Legolas.

"Ellavorn?" Charlotte's brow furrowed. He looked terrified, striding up to them as if to assure himself they weren't injured.

"Are you hurt?" His eyes roamed over her, searching for blood before he glanced around. "Where is Thranduil? And Maethor?"

Haedirn slid from his horse and stormed over. "You lying son of an orc!" His arm cocked back before his clenched fist snapped out, slamming into Ellavorn's nose with a _crack!_ "She was supposed to be safe! 'No risk,' you said. At least three slipped through, and she was facing one alone when we got to her!"

"I didn't know!" Ellavorn yelled. His arm swiped across his lip, smearing the blood from his nose across his cheek. "It wasn't supposed to happen. Wait, what do you mean 'when we got to her?' Why in Arda did you leave her side?"

Haedirn's nostrils flared, and his knuckles paled. "She was supposed to be safe! He swore it!" Haedirn roared. "And you swore they'd be seized at the northern border."

He was prepped to slam into Ellavorn again when Charlotte dove between them, her hands pressed firmly against his chest. "Haedirn," she whispered, "it's okay. I'm okay."

His lungs were heaving beneath her fingers, his narrowed eyes blazing at Ellavorn, and then the pieces started to come together for Charlotte.

There had only been one "her" in their party, but it wasn't Ellavorn's fault they'd been attacked. Was it? Her mind went back to the picnic. Thranduil had said a _part_ of his reasoning for the ride was to speak to her alone. Her mouth twisted, taking in Ellavorn's guilty expression and the sheer rage emanating off Haedirn. What had these idiots done?

"Haedirn?" She asked, her hands still pushing him away from Ellavorn. He glared over her head at the captain, seemingly oblivious to her efforts, though she was positive he could easily overcome her obstacle. "Haedirn, did you..."

Suddenly, he looked down at her, his dark eyes flooded with guilt, and she knew the answer to her question without having to ask it.

"You knew?" she whispered. Horror filled her. They'd _used_ her— all of them. Save perhaps Legolas. "You knew we were going to be attacked, didn't you?"

Haedirn opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "Did Maethor know? Thranduil?"

His nod sent her already crumbling heart to pieces. His hands darted out to gently seize her shoulders. "Please, no, it wasn't like that."

"Wasn't like _what_?" She cried, yanking free. "Wasn't like you used me to... what? Lure them in?"

"Yes, but— no— I—" He shoved his face into his hands. "You were never supposed to be at risk. The border patrol was doubled and set up to capture them for questioning before they ever got close to you."

"And you still didn't think to tell me?"

"I couldn't!" He swore, arching down to meet her eyes. "Please, believe me, we didn't know who we could trust. If someone found out, then—"

"You could've trusted me," she pointed at her chest. "Me, Haedirn! Or is that the issue? Am I the untrustworthy one?"

"Of course not!" His long fingers wrapped around her shoulders, but she shrugged him free.

"Take Legolas home," she demanded, before turning to Ellavorn. "You too."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Ellavorn said. He wiped the last of the blood from his nose. "I have to find Thranduil. Haedirn is correct. None of you should have been at risk today."

"Maybe we wouldn't have been if everyone involved was informed," she sniped.

"I deserve that," he sighed, running his hand over his eyes. "I apologize, but you need to get back to the safety of the caverns. If orcs made it past the trap, there might be more lurking. It's not safe out here for you," he said. Seeing she was about to argue again, he jerked his head meaningfully to the elfling on Berior's back. "Either of you."

She pursed her lips. Using Legolas's safety against her was low and only furthered her anger. "Fine, but all of you will be giving a thorough accounting of this morning at a later time."

Ellavorn's shoulders sagged with relief, and she tried to fight back the twinge of affection at his concern. "Thank you," he said.

She didn't answer him, choosing the bite down on her anger as she climbed onto Berior and wrapped an arm around Legolas. "Let's get home, little leaf. I'm certain that Idhrenes has more pumpkin seeds in the kitchen that we could commandeer."

Just as Ellavorn mounted to lead the party of warriors into the forest, Charlotte felt guilt wriggle into her anger. "Ellavorn?" she called begrudgingly. When he turned his hopeful eyes to her, she said, "Be careful, please."

His tentative smile eased something in her heart. He was still her friend. Like her, he'd just made a mistake. She understood how easily good intentions could create chaos.

Haedirn peeked at her from the corner of his eyes, and she could tell he felt even worse than Ellavorn. Ellavorn wasn't her personal guard. But Haedirn had been keeping her sane for the past week, guarding her nearly constantly, making her laugh when she felt like a visitor in her own body. He'd just decked his commanding officer for putting her at risk. She wasn't losing one of her dearest friends in her life over this.

"I'm still a smidge upset, but we can talk about it later," she promised, giving his hand a light squeeze. "You and Maethor have always had my back. I'm going to trust that this was the same, and it just didn't work out well."

His relief and the warm feeling in her chest confirmed that she'd done the right thing for both of them.

Back in the caverns, Charlotte squirreled away with Legolas in the kitchen, where she kidnapped a work station and led the elfling through baking two apple pies. Haedirn stood by the windows, his eyes continually roving the working elves and the entrances.

Of course, one of them was doing more baking than the other. "Little leaf, if you eat all the apples, these pies will be empty," Charlotte laughed. She knew she would keep peeling and slicing apples to make up for what he was eating.

Legolas grinned and stole another apple slice, which vanished into his mouth with a crunch. "Who are they for?"

"One is for Haedirn and Maethor," she said.

"And the other?" Legolas's fingers crawled toward the bowl of peeled apples.

"He's blonde, about this tall," she held her hand out at, "and he's eating his own dessert."

"It's for me?" His fingers darted away. "Really?"

"That's the plan," she grinned.

"Do I have to share it?"

Charlotte chuckled, her fingers carefully maneuvering her knife beneath the skin of the apple. "That is entirely up to you," she said. As an afterthought, she added, "and your adar, I suppose." Would Thranduil be upset that she gave Legolas a whole pie? She didn't really think Legolas wouldn't share it.

"I'll share it with you, and Adar, and Ellavorn, and Idhrenes," he declared.

Charlotte let go of a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. That solved her concerns about Thranduil. At least, the ones involving Legolas and pie. "I think they'd love that."

"I don't want to share it with Meluieth though," he frowned. "She was mean to you."

Charlotte's hands stilled, clutching the half-peeled apple. Her eyes locked on the red ribbon of skin twirling over the top of her thumb. Had he seen their argument? She'd tried to protect him from it, tried to keep away from him while they traveled, and he'd noticed anyway.

"Legolas," she closed her eyes, trying to find the words, "Meluieth is having a rough time right now. She's stressed and angry, and it doesn't make everything okay, but she's not a bad elleth. It's your choice who you want to share with. I certainly won't force you."

"You're not either," Legolas said. Charlotte raised a brow at him, and he clarified, "A bad elleth. You look so sad, and your fëa isn't as bright today. You're not a bad elleth either."

Charlotte couldn't swallow past the lump in her throat. She couldn't believe she thought for a moment she could shield him from any of this. "Thank you, little leaf," she croaked.

Idhrenes, bless her, chose that moment to drop the pie dough in front of them. "Alright," the cook said, with a just-too-bright smile, "Let's finish these before dinner."

"Absolutely." Charlotte nudged Legolas with her elbow, "Are you ready to do your first lattice topping?"

Legolas grinned and shoved his sleeves up past his elbows, and the three of them dove into their baking, content to focus on something normal for once. The kitchen seemed warmer and brighter without threats of orcs or spiders and constant reminders about magical necklaces and cursed rivers.

When it was time for dinner, Charlotte managed to slip into the main hall just as servants poured from the kitchens carrying dishes loaded with roasted deer meat, potatoes, pumpkin, wild mushrooms, and greens.

She tried to snag a seat on the worn benches near the back of the room so she wouldn't be noticed, but Maethor reluctantly urged her forward with a whispered, "Your position means you sit at the high table."

She groaned, barely resisting a petulant, "Do I have to?" Instead, after squaring her shoulders, she marched with her chin high, hearing the voices around her stutter and stall as she swept past. She spotted Meluieth for a brief moment, but the other elleth frowned and left the hall before Charlotte could so much as wave. Her friend still wasn't speaking with her, and the others had used her as bait. She was grateful for the single empty chair beside Legolas, although he was stuck next to a smirking Lothuial.

The viper had somehow managed to hijack the seat to Thranduil's right, and her slimy adar had sandwiched him on the other side. Poor Legolas had been shuffled aside, and she could see him flicking his eyes at the three elves in the center of the table before he dropped his gaze to his plate. Her heart tensed as he pushed his food around without taking a bite. Thranduil seemed equally pained, sending anxious glances at his son when he wasn't looking.

This she could handle. She may not be able to heal the elves, and she certainly didn't want to think about the fiasco with the orc trap, but she could cheer Legolas. So she plastered on the biggest smile she could and settled next to her favorite elfling.

"Well, I feel like the luckiest elleth in all of Arda tonight," she said in greeting.

"Why?" Legolas pushed his pumpkin toward the edge of his plate before scooching it back. His usual composure had slipped, and he rested his cheek in his palm with his elbow atop the table.

"Because I get to sit next to you." She gently nudged him, earning a small uptick of his lips before they fell again. Charlotte took a deep breath. She could just throttle that horrible elleth. She glared at the back of Lothuial's head since the other elleth had turned in her seat to face Thranduil, putting her back to Legolas as if he wasn't even present.

"So," Charlotte tried again, "our secret project is done. Want to sneak into the kitchen after this and try it?"

"Maybe later," he said, his fork still nudging his untouched food. "I don't think Adar will be able to come then."

Charlotte chewed her lip, trying to think of another plan, but Legolas beat her to it. "It's alright, Charlotte," he said softly. "I'm not very hungry tonight." He stood, gracefully for an elf who looked no more than seven, and politely dismissed himself, though it went unnoticed by the other elves at the table. Thranduil looked for a moment like he would chase after him, but didn't.

_Go get him_, Charlotte mentally pleaded, but Lothuial settled a delicate hand on the Elvenking's arm and whispered another question.

His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she felt all her anger and disappointment swell up to meet his gaze. Thranduil flinched, and she stood without eating to go after Legolas. Maethor and Haedirn fell in behind her as she rushed to catch up with him.

"Take the stairs behind the throne," Maethor whispered. "They're faster. Once he's in the king's chambers, we won't be able to reach him."

She nodded and took off for the throne room, diving into the hidden entrance behind the wall, and taking the stairs at a sprint. Careening out from the tapestry, she quickly scanned the corridor—no Legolas.

Where could he have gone? "Did we miss him?" She asked.

Haedirn shook his head, "Unless he ran here, I doubt it. Let's follow his path back, if we don't find him, I think I have an idea where he might have hidden."

They didn't encounter Legolas on their way through the caverns, so Haedirn led them down one of the few halls he hadn't included in his tour. "I wasn't sure you would want to come down here," he explained with a shrug. "This corridor leads to the healing hall and the library. Although, there is another stairwell down into the pools. I know you've been having your baths in your room, but if you ever wanted to, the pools down there are fed by the river and surprisingly warm."

A long soak in water that didn't lose its warmth within ten minutes sounded terrific, but she realized she'd never seen any swimwear in Middle Earth. "You mean everyone just bathes, you know, naked?" She asked. "Together, I mean?"

Haedirn laughed, a rich full-bellied sound that bounced off the rough stone walls. "Do you not bath naked?"

"Haedirn!" Maethor chastised.

But Charlotte was laughing, and it felt so good, and Maethor must have picked up on it, because his eyes softened and he joked, "This is why Thranduil sends him to the northern border instead of taking him to Imladris."

Haedirn chuckled, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. "And what's his excuse for leaving you behind then?"

"Obviously, as your nursemaid."

Charlotte snorted, "And now you're both mine."

"Best assignment ever," Haedirn insisted. Charlotte was touched before he grinned and added, "Hot meals, comfortable beds, and fewer blood stains in my tunics. It's a definite improvement." He winked, and Maethor let out a long-suffering sigh.

"I agree; your company is a vast improvement to my previous station," Maethor said.

"Aw, thanks, _mellon_ _nin_," Haedirn smirked.

"Not yours."

"Okay, you two." Charlotte shook her head affectionately. Considering she had a strong feeling Maethor's prior responsibilities involved torturing orcs for information, babysitting the elleth who cursed their water supply might actually be an upgrade. She felt her mood dip and shook her head. "So, where would Legolas go then?" She said to refocus them all.

It turned out, Legolas gravitated to the same place she would usually go if she were home. Maethor opened the double doors to the library with a flourish, and Charlotte stepped into her sanctuary. The shelves were smooth, polished beechwood built into the cavern walls, shelf after shelf of leather-bound books, and gently tied scrolls scaling far above her head. There was a staircase in the center of the chamber, leading up to the second level of shelves, and another set of stairs climbing to the highest section. Tables and soft armchairs grouped together throughout the main space, and though her heart was soaring at being in a familiar place once more, the sight of a little head of blond hair scrunched low in an armchair doused her excitement.

"Legolas?" She called softly. There was a tiny sniffle, and her heart tightened in her chest. Haedirn and Maethor stood by the door, guarding the entrance, as she swept into the library.

Legolas was curled in a ball in an armchair, his cheeks streaked with tears, and snot running from his pert nose. Charlotte's shoulders drooped. "Come here, little leaf," she said, kneeling before him with her arms wide.

The elfing dove into her embrace without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her neck even as she shushed him. Hand smoothing his back, she rocked him, repeating, "It's okay. I'm here. I've got you."

"I don't— " he hiccuped and tried again, "I don't like her. She's stealing my adar."

"Oh, little leaf," she squeezed her eyes to stop the tears from rolling over. She hated Lothuial too, but that wasn't going to help Legolas. "No one can steal your adar from you," she said as she ran her hand over his hair. "He's always your adar. Remember when we talked about Meluieth earlier?"

Legolas nodded against her chest.

"Your adar loves you very much," she tried.

"Then why does he forget me all the time?"

"He's under a lot of pressure right now," she explained. "It's not that he's forgotten you. I saw his face at dinner tonight. He misses you too."

"Really?" he sniffed. "Doesn't seem like it. He's always with _her._"

That stung Charlotte a bit. "I know, sweetheart. It's complicated, and I understand why you're upset. Have you talked to him about how you feel?"

"I can't," Legolas cried, pulling away from her. His eyes filled with panic. "It's like you said: he's already so busy, and I know he's really worried about everyone, and I don't want to bother him more."

"Legolas, he'd want to know."

Legolas shook his head, "But what if he doesn't? He only has me because Naneth..." his lip wobbled, "Naneth left."

Her tears finally spilled over her lashes, slowly trickling down her face in time with his. Warmth blossomed against her collarbones. "I promise you," she squeezed his hands gently, "I swear to you that's not true. Your adar could explain it better, I'm sure, but you are the most wanted elfling in all of Arda. Your adar loves you fiercely, Legolas."

"You promise?" He swiped a sleeve across his red cheeks.

"I _promise_," she insisted. "Legolas, sweetheart, I've only known you for a couple of months, and I'm pretty positive that I love you."

"You do?" His lip wobbled again, and she worried she had upset him. He dove back into her arms and squeezed her tightly. "I wish you were my naneth instead."

Charlotte's heart stopped. _Me too_, _little leaf_, she thought before she realized it. But it was true. She did love Legolas. Maybe even loved... no, she wasn't going into that heartbreak.

"I would've been honored if I had a son just like you," she said, resuming the soothing stroke of her hand down his hair. "You're kind and thoughtful, and you're funny, and you're an excellent pie baker," she said, and Legolas giggled. "You're brave, Legolas."

"I was scared that orc was going to hurt you," he mumbled.

"And yet you faced him anyway because you're not afraid to defend what's important to you." She wiped her thumbs across his pale cheeks, sweeping away the residual tears. "Now, there's a pie waiting for us in the kitchen, and I'm sure Idhrenes will have some leftovers we can take. What do you say we give Maethor and Haedirn their present?"

Legolas's smile was watery, but at least he was genuinely smiling. "I think pie would be good for dinner," he tried.

Her fingers danced along his sides, and he laughed as she tickled him. "Oh, do you?" she grinned. "Well, even I am not going to let you eat just pie for dinner. Come on, then, before you have to head to bed."

Haedirn pulled her aside before she could leave the library. "How did you do it?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Your necklace." He pointed to the stone resting in the vee of her tunic. "We saw it glowing from over here. How did you get it to work?"

The stone was glittering against her skin when she glanced at it, but there was nothing left of the glow Haedirn and Maethor had seen. "Damnit!" she hissed, angry with herself for not noticing. "I don't know."

"What did you say to Legolas?" Haedirn tried.

"I just told him that his adar loved him." She studied the stone in her hand, trying to focus on the love she felt for Legolas. The stone warmed in her hand, but not the heat she was used to feeling when it activated, and while it still glittered, the heavenly glow was absent. She sighed, feeling exhausted with the puzzle her mother had left her. "There's something there, but it's not working the way it usually does."

"Would it be enough to sedate the elves for a while?" Maethor asked as he watched Legolas, who had realized that they hadn't followed him and was waiting down the hall for them to catch up.

"I'm not sure, but I want to try," she said. She was brave enough, too, she thought.

"Woah." Haedirn grabbed her arm before she could pass him. "You haven't eaten, and it would be best to wait until tomorrow when Meluieth is awake to deal with any unexpected issues."

Maethor nodded, his lips firm. "Haedirn is right. We all want them back, but we need to go in with clear heads and full strength. Eat and get some rest first. Maybe the answer will come to you while you're sleeping."

Charlotte tried to argue. Every minute the elves were conscious, they were suffering. But Maethor cut her off. "I'm on your side, but now there are families in there, and we don't need to upset them further if this doesn't work."

Resignation and relief warred within her. She wanted to fix her mess, but failing again and possibly making things worse wasn't something she wanted to risk either.

"Fine," she agreed. "First thing in the morning though."

"After breakfast," Haedirn said.

"We'll bring it with us," she argued. "I've agreed to a night of rest, but these elves are trapped, Haedirn. Whether they want me there or not, I have to fix this."

He exchanged a quick glance with Maethor, always in sync with each other, before he sighed. "Very well." He nudged her toward Legolas and teased, "I heard there is a gift waiting for me, and I'm eager to know what it is."

Charlotte rolled her eyes at his antics. She couldn't imagine life without her two favorite guards.

* * *

AN: Whew! Over 100k words (not counting the author's notes ) and three new chapters in about three days. I felt like the ellyn might have gotten off easy in this chapter, but at this point, Charlotte has taken quite the emotional beating and she's reluctant to sacrifice what little support she still has, especially when they've been there for her through everything. I didn't want them fighting for the sake of an exciting chapter plot, although it does come into play later. Plus, her character is more of a "hot, but brief" temper, and she's not one to hold grudges for long. Unless you're Lothuial. Then the gloves are off. So hopefully, you all like this chapter! I'm so grateful to get to share this with you! Thank you again for reading and for your lovely comments! Your reviews feed my soul.

AN 2: I have briefly been working in another writing program, but I'm switching back to Google docs for writing because the typos were wild in the other program. Extra spaces added around auto-hyperlinks for character or place names, skipped letters, line breaks in the middle of sentences, etc. So it's just not working out for me. :( Might be user error. haha. Hopefully, I've caught all the mistakes, but, if not, let me know and I'll work on correcting them. Thanks so much!


	28. A Thorough Accounting

Legolas was thrilled to unveil two perfectly golden pies to her guards, and her guards were equally pleased to dig into their shared dessert, eating directly from the pie pan with their forks battling over the midline.

"If this whole hero-from-the-Valar-thing doesn't work out," Haedirn said after stealing a mouthful of pie from Maethor's territory, "Idhrenes should really hire you."

Idhrenes noticed Charlotte stiffen, and the cook scoffed as she sliced into the remaining pie, cutting one of the decorative leaves Legolas had added to the edge of the crust. "Put more pie in your mouth, Haedirn."

Finally realizing what he'd said, he grimaced. "Apologies, my lady. I only meant to complement your baking."

"I know. Thank you," Charlotte said. She chose to ignore the churning in her stomach. _Tomorrow,_ she thought, _I might finally be able to fix this mess tomorrow._

"Speaking of apologies," Idhrenes continued. She slid a slice of pie onto a plate for Legolas, who dove in with gusto. "I owe you one, Charlotte. I swear I didn't know what they were doing when they took you into the forest."

"Then there is no need to apologize," Charlotte insisted.

"Well," Maethor said, dropping his fork to the workstation. "She may not need to, but I certainly do. I should've told you."

"Why didn't you?"

He glanced at Haedirn, who placed his fork down as well. "Please forgive us both," Haedirn said. "It's just... you were already carrying so much we could see it in your fëa. When Ellavorn showed up that morning with their plan, we refused."

That explained the yelling she'd heard then.

"So, you didn't think I could handle knowing?"

"No!" Maethor insisted. "No, we just didn't want you to have to handle more. If anything had happened, if a guard was injured, we knew you would blame yourself, even though it wouldn't have been your fault. And then suddenly everything was careening out of control, and you were going for a ride anyway, and you were starting to come to life again, and we didn't want to ruin it."

"That," Idhrenes sighed, "would be my fault. While I didn't have the same motives, I was trying to usher you into the forest."

Charlotte figured she'd deal with one plan at a time and focused on the orcs. "You told Ellavorn I was never supposed to be in danger, but three orcs cornered us. What happened?"

Maethor rubbed the bridge of his nose, but Haedirn took responsibility for answering. "Ellavorn has been receiving reports of orc skirmishes from the northern border. Not the usual full-on assaults, but attempts at sneaking past the border. They're hunting for someone, and we've gotten lucky that there have only been few injuries so far."

Her body went cold. She knew the orcs were looking for her. But she'd foolishly thought that once she was within the stone walls of Thranduil's caverns, she would be safe. Now, not only had she poisoned Thranduil's people, but orcs were hurting them trying to get to her. She shoved her dessert away. They were right about one thing: she would take the blame because it was her fault. She was supposed to be helping them, not the other way around.

"_That_ is why we didn't want to tell you," Maethor lamented. "Your fëa is fluttering again. Almost like it can't keep itself lit."

"Is it possible for it to snuff out?" Charlotte worried.

Idhrenes patted her hand, "It is, but that's not going to happen to you. Deep, crippling emotions: grief, trauma, guilt; those can cause a fëa to fade."

Grief? Check. Trauma? Absolutely. Guilt? She had that in abundance. Was her fëa at risk?

"Does that happen often?" Charlotte asked, suddenly worried about yet another problem. "Is there a way to stop it?"

"Most elves sail west before their fëa weakens that much," the cook said with a subtle glance at Legolas, who appeared to have tuned out the conversation. "But it happened enough after the war that it was common for a while. Even during the war, we faced fadings. Lothuial's mother, for example, faded from grief during the war."

"Oh," Charlotte said. "I'm sorry to hear that." And she was. She knew that pain intimately. Maybe that explained some of the coldness in that family. Loss had tempered them, honed them into steel. If it weren't for the elves she'd grown close with, and of course, the skin-changer, she may have ended up just as cynical and distant.

"I'm surprised Thranduil didn't mention it before," Idhrenes said. "I've noticed he shares more with you than he does others."

Charlotte raised a brow in question.

"You didn't think I was leaving two forks out for fun, did you?" Idhrenes scoffed again. "Honestly."

"My look was more along the lines of 'Why would Thranduil have told me about Lothuial's mother?' Versus: why would he have told _me _specifically?"

"Because," Maethor explained, "Thranduil's mother, Queen Renieth, died protecting her friend: Lothuial's mother."

"Did Adar's adar fade?" Legolas asked.

The adults spun to face the elfling, chagrined that he was, in fact, listening. Charlotte was surprised to see Idhrenes field the question, "King Oropher died during the war," she said, "Though yes, his fëa had begun to fade."

"Do you think he would've liked me?" Legolas asked, pushing the last bite of his pie around his plate. The wound from his naneth's abrupt departure was still raw, and Charlotte wasn't sure who she disliked more at the moment: Nemir for hurting him in the first place or Lothuial for tearing open the wound again.

Idhrenes turned over Legolas's question, her lips pursed as if deciding how much to share. "King Oropher could be demanding," she settled on, "but even he would've adored and cherished you in his own way. Despite everything, there was nothing more important to him than protecting his people and his family."

"She's right, little leaf," a deep voice said from behind her. Maethor and Haedirn didn't so much as flinch, so they must've known Thranduil had entered the room. The Elvenking took a knee behind Legolas, who turned to study his adar. "My adar would have loved you as much as I do. One day, when we sail west to Valinor, I'll prove it."

Legolas was caught on one particular part of Thranduil's sentence. "You really love me?"

Thranduil's mouth dropped in shock, "How could I not? You're the most important elf in all of Arda to me, _ion nin_."

The elfling looked to Charlotte and took a deep breath before facing his adar again. "Charlotte said you wanted me very much."

Thranduil seemed to sense the question there and said, "I've thought of you every day since I first felt your fëa call out to me."

"Why didn't you stay with me then?"

Charlotte quietly slid off the bench and led her guards away to give them some privacy, but Legolas stopped her.

"Please don't leave!" he cried. She could see the fear and vulnerability in his eyes.

"I promise you, I won't," she reassured him. "I'll be right over there, ready to say goodnight when you're finished talking with your adar."

Vow accepted, Legolas turned back to his adar and said, "This would be much better with another slice of pie. I made it for us! Do you want some?"

Once the two ellyn were settled with dessert, Charlotte helped Idhrenes tidy the kitchen while Legolas and Thranduil spoke, trying to give them at least the illusion of privacy. It felt wonderful to do something helpful and productive, even if it was just washing forks and plates while Idhrenes banked all but one of the enormous hearths. Despite the warmth from the last fire, the newly-fed shadows sent a shiver down her spine, and her mind tumbled over the last time she'd washed dishes. The dream seemed so long ago, even though it had been only a few weeks since she'd slid her knife into the orc by the river. Her shoulders tightened. She would definitely have nightmares about that tonight.

Legolas wrapped his arms around her as she was tucking away the last of the plates. "Goodnight, Charlotte," he whispered, and she bent down to return his hug. "Thank you."

She smiled and tapped her finger against his nose. "Get some rest, little leaf."

Thranduil turned to her guards and asked, "Would you escort Legolas back to his chambers?"

For a moment, she took in Maethor and Haedirn's stone-faced expressions, and she was sure they would decline. Thranduil must've seen it as well, since he said, "I vowed I would keep her safe. You know that still stands, and I owe her an explanation. Please."

Still, Maethor flicked his gaze to her, only consenting after she nodded her head. "Very well," Maethor said, though he sounded displeased, "Haedirn and I will rest while she's in your care. Please wake me when you're finished."

When they were gone, Charlotte realized Idhrenes had somehow slipped away too, leaving her alone in the dim kitchen with the Thranduil. It reminded her of when they'd sat exchanging stories and sharing an apple tart. The flames in the hearth flickered across his face, and she caught herself lamenting the fact that he was dressed so regally. She missed the relaxed look he wore last time. Even as she thought it, Thranduil pulled his crown from his head and slipped his robe from his shoulders, revealing a silver tunic beneath.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, and she quickly schooled her features as she watched him roll up his sleeves, her eyes tracing each inch of golden skin revealed.

Her throat felt dry all of a sudden. _Married_, she reminded herself. Engaged, betrothed, whatever. Thranduil was off the market. Unavailable.

She turned from him to give herself a moment. She would not eyeball another woman's future spouse, even if she hated the other woman. Vehemently.

"I suppose you don't want to talk to me," he said, and she spun, shocked, to meet his disappointed eyes. "I deserve that."

"It's not that," she blurted, realizing too late what it implied.

"So it's the nonexistent betrothal then?" His brows raised. "I told you I am not accepting another political arrangement."

"Does Lothuial know that?" She crossed her arms. "Because she's ordered flowers and gowns, and she seems to think that there is a wedding."

"She's what?"

Charlotte glared at him, but the more she watched him, the more she actually believed he was telling her the truth. "You didn't know?" She clarified.

"Of course not!" He insisted, taking another step closer, his hands spread in supplication. She stepped away, her back hitting the wooden table where she'd prepared pies with Legolas hours ago.

"Why does she think you're getting married if you're not?" Her eyes narrowed, studying every twitch in his expression, but Thranduil was genuinely upset. Lothuial wasn't the most trustworthy elleth, but why would she risk preparing for a wedding the groom hadn't agreed to?

"Cúthon probably believes he has me cornered with everything happening." Thranduil shrugged, but then he caught her guilty expression and said, "This isn't your fault, Charlotte."

"It is." She turned her head, unable to view the compassion in his eyes. Of course, it was her fault. It was her necklace, her emotions, and her memories that poisoned their river. And though Maethor and Haedirn were optimistic that they were close to figuring out how the necklace worked, she couldn't help the nagging feeling that she would fail again.

"It's not," Thranduil's voice soothed. "That necklace didn't come to you by accident. The Valar chose you specifically, and something unique to you activates the necklace. I have faith that we can figure this out. If you still want my assistance, that is? I assure you it wouldn't be improper. The betrothal contract is still unsigned on my desk. I could show it to you if you'd like?"

She hesitated. On the one hand, irrefutable proof would be nice, but what value would it have if she couldn't trust him without it? "Your word is enough for me," she finally said.

Thranduil's face lit up, beaming, and a sliver of his fëa's glow illuminated his skin. She fought against the call for her own fëa to rise and meet his.

"Then," Thranduil said, his eyes still locked on hers as he dared another step closer, "I give you my word that I am not betrothed, nor have I encouraged a betrothal with Lothuial. I'm not even slightly interested in another loveless forced arrangement, and after speaking with Legolas tonight, Lothuial would be the last elleth I'd be inclined to marry."

"And what about using me as bait without telling me?"

He opened his mouth, hesitating, before snapping it shut again. "There's really no excuse for it," he sighed. "I should have told you. I wanted to, but…"

"But?"

"It's entirely selfish."

"Thranduil, why didn't you tell me?" She whispered.

His silver eyes closed, and he sighed, defeated. The flames from the hearth flickered and cast shadows across his lids, and for a moment, she could see the pain buried in the darkness around his eyes. "You've been avoiding me for days, I didn't— I missed you. I didn't want our first conversation to be about using you to lure orcs for capture."

She'd been such an idiot. First Legolas and now Thranduil. She had thought she was protecting them by keeping her distance, and instead, she left them feeling abandoned, and they'd accepted it because they weren't strangers to people claiming to love them and then walking away. "I'm so sorry," she said. Her fingers wrapped around her arms to keep herself from reaching out to him. "I thought, stupidly, that if I stayed away, then they wouldn't come after you too."

"Who?" Thranduil asked. "Who's been threatening you?" Peaceful Thranduil had vanished, and in his place stood a king, a warlord ready to eviscerate.

"No threats," she said. "I'm just not particularly well-liked right now. I can handle it." Mostly. She'd given herself her space to mope and compartmentalize, and now she was ready to march on and finish her task. She could deal with the vast majority of Thranduil's people disliking her. Of course, after she left her cocoon of despair, she'd realized that, for some reason, most of her new friends were not angry with her. They should be, but they weren't. "How do you not hate me for what I've done to your people?" She asked him.

Thranduil slid another step forward, approaching her as if she were a wounded animal. "Hate you? For bringing my people hope? For soothing Legolas's pain? For easing Maethor's fëa? Please tell me which of these I should despise you?"

"I don't think poisoning them counts as 'bringing hope,'" she scoffed. An idea flitted across her mind. "Actually, do you think you would be willing to help me with something?"

"Anything," he vowed. His expression was so sincere, she breathlessly chuckled.

"I really could ask for anything after that," she smirked.

Thranduil was suddenly too close. Her lungs filled with the spicy vanilla scent that was inherently him. "You could," he breathed.

She pictured herself, reaching up on her toes, winding her fingers into his hair, finally discovering if it was as soft as it looked, if his lips would unravel her. But there were elves, sick and crazed, and she needed to help them before she could be so selfish. "Sneak me into the healing hall? Tonight? Right now?"

Whatever Thranduil had been expecting her to request, that wasn't it. "Why?"

"I want to try again," she said. "Tonight, the necklace activated with Legolas. I didn't see it, but Maethor and Haedirn did, and they think it might be triggered by love."

"You love Legolas?" he breathed. There was something more to his gaze, a hope buried in his silver eyes.

"Very much," she whispered. "What's not to love?"

"Indeed." His smile was gentle, tentative, and for a moment, he was wholly lost in his thoughts. He shook his head. "Let's go then," he said, holding out his arm.

Charlotte looped her arm through his and glanced around the kitchen, ensuring that everything had been tidied away. "What about your crown and your clothes? Shouldn't we bring them with us?"

Thranduil laughed, and her heart swelled at the sound. "They'll be in good hands." He turned to the back corridor and called, "Galion!"

Glass shattered, there was a thump, then pounding footsteps as Galion hurried down the hall. "Yes, my king?" He asked breathlessly, one hand against the wall to keep himself from falling.

"Just the elf I was looking for," he winked at Charlotte, who studied the elf with wide eyes.

Galion's hair was askew, his tunic ruffled, and his dark eyes were bloodshot. Even with his hand on the wall, he teetered and nearly pitched forward. Was this elf ever sober?

"Galion, please return my robes to my chambers and then get some sleep. I expect you to be bathed and presentably dressed when you report tomorrow morning," Thranduil said firmly.

Galion's mouth popped open, and his eyes narrowed, the pupils trying to focus on the Elvenking.

"Go then," Thranduil nudged him gently. "My Dorwinion can wait until tomorrow. Though perhaps you can write Lady Celebrían in the morning and compliment her on her selection."

Galion paled, and it was enough to shock him into action. He scurried to collect Thranduil's belongings and disappeared up the stairs in a flash.

"Idhrenes told you after all?" She asked, surprised. Idhrenes didn't seem the type to reveal secrets or give up leverage.

Thranduil huffed a laugh. "I really do know everything that happens in my forest." He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes and smirked. "Well, almost everything."

"Again, I wasn't hiding it."

"I know," he scrunched his nose in an expression reminiscent of Legolas. "Were you behind tonight's pie?"

"I had help," she smiled, thinking of Legolas eating all of the apples. But then her mind circled back around to Galion. Drunk before lunch and drinking more after everyone went to bed didn't seem healthy. "Is Galion…" she couldn't think how to ask, but Thranduil understood her concerns.

"Galion and Meluieth are the last in their family," Thranduil explained. Their gentle steps barely made a sound as they passed through the great hall, empty and cold, and into the entrance hall. The bulbous lanterns illuminated the stone corridors with a pale golden light, a dim facsimile of Thranduil's fëa. "Meluieth has isolated herself from everyone, including her _hanar_, and Galion is worried about her, but she won't let him see her. Even then, he was doing well until Elros was injured last week on the border. Meluieth was able to save him, but Elros won't be returning to the guard."

"Ever?"

Thranduil frowned, "I wouldn't allow it. Meluieth has shared that the leg injury may leave him with a permanent limp. He would be a risk to himself and the others in the canopy."

"So, what will happen to him?" Was this on her shoulders as well? Had Elros lost his future on the guard because he was defending his realm from orcs trying to get to her?

"Stop," Thranduil said softly, "Galion blames himself as well. And Meluieth. We have defended the Greenwood for hundreds of years. That is why we have a border patrol and a guard. Each of these ellyn knew the risks and were willing to accept them. Remember, Charlotte: we were fighting a rise in attacks before the Valar blessed us with your presence."

Charlotte huffed, "I'm going to start worrying about you if you keep insisting that I'm anything other than a curse on your people."

Thankfully, Thranduil let it drop since they'd reached the double doors to the healing hall. It was blissfully silent inside, and Charlotte hoped that all of the elves had been sedated.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Thranduil asked her.

Instead of answering, she gently pressed the door open, leaving just enough space for the two of them to wiggle their way into the chamber. It was similar to the healing house at the old settlement. Beds lined each wall, with a central corridor between them, and most were occupied. The elves already asleep rested closer to the door, so she skipped them and went to the elves in the back who were awake but dazed.

She settled on the bed beside one of them, noting that it was the elf who had imagined his naneth. He didn't stir, and his glassy, vacant eyes worried her more than the unconscious elves. "Time to see if this works," she muttered. Her hand wrapped around the elf's, and she closed her eyes, trying to drag up the feeling of love she'd felt for Legolas.

"It's working," Thranduil breathed. Though when she looked at him, his brow was twisted in confusion.

"What?"

"It's not as bright," he murmured, "like you've found part of the key, but it's missing something."

If only she knew what the vague something was. Still, she let her feelings of love swoop through her and into the elf, and nearly sobbed in relief when his eyes began to flutter. His body sagged, his shoulders drooping, before his head bobbed on his neck, his chin dipping once, twice, and then he dropped back, lifeless. Thranduil rearranged the elf's limbs, so he looked comfortable, and ensured the elf was still breathing.

"It wasn't quite as sudden or strong, but it looks like it worked," he whispered. His proud grin caused a blush to race up her neck.

Charlotte rolled her shoulders and stood. "Let's help the others," she said, settling on the next bed and scooping up the elf's hand as she had done before.

It took an hour to knock out the rest of the elves. Charlotte moved from bed to bed, digging up her feelings of love and feeling the feeble answer in her necklace. Each attempt was slower as she struggled to focus her mind and project outward, and by the time she got to the last elf, the one who had marveled over the weeping stars, her arms and legs were quaking.

"Maybe you should rest and finish tomorrow," Thranduil murmured as he wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from collapsing.

Charlotte shook her head stubbornly, and her hand raced up as if to hold it on her shoulders. "I'm finally helping, Thranduil," she insisted. Her words came out slurred, and her tongue felt thick and heavy. "I'm finishing this now. It's one more elf."

"You're barely holding it together," Thranduil tried.

"Please, don't make me sneak back down here by myself," she begged. Tipping her head back, she blearily studied his worried expression. "You shouldn't frown so much," she whispered. "You're far too pretty to frown." Her shaky hand reached up to smooth the lines across his brow.

Thranduil barked a laugh, quickly trying to cover it with a cough. He was silent for a moment, waiting for someone to burst into the chamber to investigate the noise. When it seemed the coast was clear, he grinned down at her, watching her still dazedly stroking his forehead. The tension in the corners of his eyes made her want to smooth her fingers across his cheeks too.

"You're practically as drunk as Galion right now," he whispered. "I don't let any of my healers practice while they're in their cups."

"Technically, I'm not in any cups," she said cheekily.

Thranduil rolled his eyes, but his smile gave him away. "Stubborn elleth. Maethor will murder me if I return you like this."

Charlotte snorted, "Yeah, probably."

"Thank you for your concern." He huffed. She loved the way his lips curved when he smiled like that. Loved the way his eyes glittered at her.

"I'd protect you," she whispered.

"You cannot stand without assistance." Thranduil tightened his arms around her waist to prove it. "I don't like my chances."

"Well, then," she started, but the thought ran away from her. What were they talking about again? "Mmhm, last elf, then."

"This is a terrible idea," Thranduil sighed, but he helped her stumble the few steps to the last elf.

"Thank you." She grinned at him, wondering why he wouldn't hold still. Damn elf was making her dizzy. Her hands wrapped around the last cursed elf's fingers, though her eyes never left Thranduil's, and she felt the warmth tripping over her stone onto her skin before the elf collapsed in a heap on his bed. "Told you I could do it," she mumbled proudly.

Thranduil's terrified eyes as he dove to catch her was the last thing she remembered.

* * *

Translations:

_Hanar- _brother

AN: I'm going to try really really hard to get another chapter finished and out tomorrow! Fingers crossed! Thank you all for the wonderful comments. I'm so excited that you're enjoying the story and the characters. I feel like the luckiest writer in the world with you all!


	29. Fever

The first pinprick of light burst through the darkness, and something stirred within Charlotte's chest to greet it. Her muscles relaxed, and she let herself drift through the abyss, listening to her heart rushing, pounding blood through her veins. Worries flit beyond her grasp, vague recollections of faces swam in and out, and then he materialized from the emptiness: a stern, tight-lipped man, square-jawed with sorrowful eyes— no, not a man, an elf with arched ears. Even as she studied him, his brow twitched, rising to meet his silver hair.

"Hmm." His voice was deep, thundering through her bones. Dark eyes narrowed, debating what to do with her. Another burst of brilliant light appeared over his shoulder, and Charlotte warmed. The ellon ignored it, though his head cocked to the side. "What an interesting plan, Nienna," he said.

An elleth cloaked in mist swirled into existence. "Release her, brother." Her voice was soft, aching, sweeping through Charlotte and leaving behind tremors of grief. Tears pooled at Charlotte's lashes, though she couldn't account for the sorrow that surged within her. "She's not yours to claim yet," Nienna insisted.

"She has strayed near my halls," he answered, his gaze still focused on Charlotte. "I had suspected your request was not as innocent as it appeared."

Another light emerged, bright and twinkling. Stars, Charlotte realized. They came quickly after that, each bursting into existence until she was swarmed in the glow of thousands. Her skin itched, burned with desire, and something raged within, hammering against its cage.

"Námo," a bright voice called, and then the largest of the stars emerged. "This one is mine, and I have not finished with her, nor has she wandered far enough into your halls to be claimed by your rule."

The new elleth was stunning, the most beautiful woman ever to exist. Later, when she tried to remember a single detail about her, Charlotte would only be able to recall the light, bright as a small sun, illuminating the elleth's frame.

Námo frowned, deep waves cutting across his brow as he finally turned to face the ellith. "Are not all souls mine to claim? I see your touch upon her, Varda, but this one alters what will be, and that is my domain."

"She is ours," Nienna said, "and her task is incomplete. You have seen the path Middle Earth would travel without her. Release her, brother."

Charlotte tried to pry her lips apart to beg for her freedom, for the burning to stop. Chills wracked her body. Her skin was feverish. "Please," she croaked. In the back of her mind, a voice, haunting and anguished, called for her.

Námo nodded once, decided, and said, "Very well, Nienna. Varda. But I warn you: Vairë is most displeased that her tapestries continue to unravel."

He vanished as if he'd never been there at all, leaving Charlotte to face the two ellith.

"We do not have long, little one," Nienna said gently. Her robe writhed around her, gleaming in Varda's light and the glow of the stars. "Something hunts you from the shadows, and you must succeed in your task. Should the Greenwood fall, so too shall Middle Earth succumb to Sauron's poison."

Varda nodded, "Do not expend your fëa so thoroughly again, for you are like but unlike the others, and your fëa is of my making. Your soul is strong, but unstable without support to temper it. You will burn yourself out."

Nienna swept a single tear from her porcelain cheek and pressed it into the stone of Charlotte's necklace. "Return, Charlotte," she said, her voice fading. "You have all that you need to succeed."

And then Charlotte was careening through space, burning bright and hot until she slammed back into her body.

She wasn't expecting the pain that came with being in her own limbs. Everything ached, and though the tremors had subsided, she still felt the rush of heat under her skin. Her fingers itched to tear at her tunic, to rip the fabric from her body. Too warm. She was far too warm.

A breeze curled across her face, and she tried to turn into it, but her head lolled against something soft. It rose and fell beneath her cheek.

"Charlotte?"

She knew that voice. Her mind finally registered the firm pressure against her side, the weight of an arm wrapped around her.

"Charlotte," Thranduil tried again. Pain and desperation colored his voice. "Come on, open your eyes for me."

Raindrops kissed her skin. She swore she could hear them sizzle as they struck. Her fingers twitched, the muscles clenching in her arm, the spikey grass fluttering against her. She fought the weight holding her eyes.

"That's it," Thranduil coaxed. His chest shuddered against her side.

She finally peeled her tired eyes open, her gaze settling on him, absorbing every feature. His hair was askew, his cheeks painted with tears, but his eyes, his beautiful silver eyes, were filled with such relief.

"It worked," he whispered, before barking a somewhat hysterical laugh. "Maethor! Haedirn! She's awake!" His hand cupped her face, his thumb gently smoothing over her cheekbone.

He cradled her in his lap, his back resting against an enormous oak. High above her head, the barren branches pitched and swayed like reaching hands, creaking and cracking together in macabre applause. Pale fingers crawled out from her memory, carrying the terror of being trapped, the suffocating void that stretched beyond escape. Her lungs were too shallow to convince her she was still alive, but there was a steady_ thump, thump, thump, _beneath her feverish cheek, and Thranduil's whole being sang with it: _you're alive, you're alive, you're alive. _

Maethor and Haedirn popped into view a second later, both just as unkempt as their king. Her heart seized as she took in their expressions and the redness around their eyes. What had happened while she was out?

"Legolas?" she asked, terrified of the answer. If anything had happened to him...

Thranduil's brows scrunched in confusion, but he said, "Legolas is safe in the caverns with Ellavorn."

Charlotte tried to pull herself up, but couldn't get her abs to cooperate. The muscles tightened painfully, and she groaned, flopping back on Thranduil. Before she could try again, she heard snuffling, and then great puffs of air tickled her cheek.

"Berior," she smiled loopily, turning her head to greet the enormous elk. His fur was patchy and worn, but he pressed his damp nose to her forehead and nudged her. "You're looking rough, big guy," Charlotte said, gingerly reaching up to card her fingers through his hair.

The elk snorted in disbelief, and Haedirn huffed out a skeptical laugh. "_He_ looks rough, she says." Haedirn shook his head. "You are the most reckless stubborn elleth I've ever met. I thought we'd agreed you wouldn't try to heal them until the morning, after food, and with supervision. What were you thinking?" He cried.

Charlotte winced. She probably deserved that, but she'd do it again. How could she not? The elves finally had some measure of long-term relief. Relief from the pain she'd caused. What did it matter if she suffered in the process?

Maethor squeezed her hand gently, "I wish you would've waited, but I understand."

"You understand?" Haedirn glared at his partner. "She nearly died, Maethor!"

"I'm well aware," Maethor said, his eyes were haunted, and his grip on her hand tightened.

"Then how could you possibly condone it?" Haedirn pressed. His footsteps paced beside them, one hand zigzagging through his hair as he worked himself up. "I've never seen an elf come back after their fëa dimmed that much. She could've faded; any other elf _would_ have faded."

"And we run the risk of dying every time we leave for the border, _mellon nin_," Maethor soothed. "It is unfair to judge her for risks we take each day in honor. We are at risk being her guards as well, but I know you wouldn't trade your days as her guard for a safer life."

Haedirn sighed, and his shoulders collapsed. His back was to them, but Charlotte heard him clearly. "We go to the borders with trained warriors at our side. We don't face danger alone."

"She wasn't alone," Thranduil interjected, "though it almost wasn't enough."

Charlotte just wanted to rest. And she wanted to soak in a cold bath. For hours. Maybe she could do both at the same time? Then again, drowning in a bathtub didn't sound like a fun way to go either, and she felt bone-tired enough that it would be a likely outcome.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte said. She tried to pull herself up again, and when she failed, Thranduil lifted her into a sitting position and settled her between his legs with her back against his chest. When his long fingers pushed her hair off her face, she sighed happily and let her head drop into the space between his neck and shoulder, her eyes sliding closed.

Thranduil's laugh rumbled under her ear. "I want to let you sleep," he whispered, "But you need to pull your light up first."

Charlotte groaned and burrowed further into his shoulder. "Nope," she mumbled. Her eyelids were scalding. "Too hot. Need a nap."

His cool hand pressed against her forehead, and his "hmm" vibrated against her cheek. "Maethor, Haedirn," he said, "do another perimeter run. I want eyes north and south before she unveils her fëa."

Maethor grunted, and she heard him shifting before he released her hand. "You think the surge is causing her fever?"

"We're about to find out," Thranduil said. "Go, make sure nothing comes for her. Ellavorn should have sent additional guards by now. Run a canopy loop and then find them. Nothing comes near her without us knowing about it. Think you can help, Berior?"

Berior must've agreed, because Thranduil said, "I'll summon you when we're ready to return."

It was silent for a few moments, as her guards and elk disappeared into the trees to carry out their duties. Charlotte let herself enjoy the birdsong mingling with the steady thumping of Thranduil's heart, her lungs filling in time with his.

She wasn't sure how she'd ended up in the forest. Judging by the brisk air and burnished pink sunlight drifting over the treetops, it was either early morning or late evening. So it wasn't a matter of if she had missed time, but how much. The last thing she remembered was healing the elves with Thranduil. "Are they all okay?" Charlotte asked.

"The elves?" His fingers smoothed down her hair, and he pulled back to look at her. He smelled of pine again and the ever-present vanilla scent she'd come to associate with his secret midnight desserts. "You nearly end in Mandos's Halls, and you're worried about the other elves?"

"Thranduil…"

"They're fine," he assured her. "Thanks to you, they're resting peacefully."

Something niggled the back of her mind, but she couldn't piece her brain back together. "What happened?"

"I'll explain it as soon as you're taken care of," he assured her. "Join me?"

At first, she didn't understand what he was asking her to do. She was already cuddled in his arms, the full length of her body pressed against his, but then the light glowed across her lids, warm and bright and welcoming. He'd unleashed the entirety of his fëa, and she could imagine it piercing through every inch of the clearing. His soul caressed hers, luring it to the surface, waves surging beneath her skin, cresting up to answer his light.

"Let go, love," He whispered into her ear, the words shivering, warm and husky, down her neck.

She shattered.

Thranduil gasped as her fëa exploded, the light burning through the clearing, so bright it overtook his own. She cracked her tired eyes open, watched the silver of her fëa glittering on his skin.

"Incredible," he murmured. His arm tightened around her, and his eyes flickered down for a moment before locking onto hers. "Now connect to the forest. Let your fëa rush through just like we practiced."

There was no grace to the tsunami that swept from her soul into the forest's song, and the trees groaned and bent like reeds under the force. Thranduil must've faced a backlash through his own connection because his breathing quickened, and his body tensed beneath hers, his arms tightening around her middle involuntarily.

She felt the excess energy in her fëa trickling through their link, from her to the forest to Thranduil and back. By the time it reached her again, it was no more than an echo. The fever was slowly dissipating, allowing her mind to settle back into place, and her light cooled until it twined together with his, perfectly balanced. She felt his exhale of relief, and then he dipped his head to rest against hers.

"You terrified me," he muttered. "I thought for sure I would have to sail west to beg Námo for your return."

"I met him, actually," she narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. She didn't notice the horror on Thranduil's face. "Námo and his sister? Nienna. Varda was there too."

What had they said though?

"You met them?" Thranduil breathed. "And he let you return?"

"Nienna and Varda didn't give him much choice."

"That confirms our suspicion that you were sent here," he said. "Now, we at least we can be sure who sent you."

Their joined light danced across his blond hair, and she longed to reach up and smooth her fingers through it as he'd done for her. Though she was content to rest in his arms, memories were slowly leaking back into her awareness: the feel of inky blackness shrouding her, the stars popping into existence around her, the two ellith determined to return her to Middle Earth… "The Greenwood," Charlotte gasped. "'If the Greenwood falls, so too will Middle Earth.'"

"Did they tell you that?" Thranduil asked.

"Nienna did, just before she sent me home. She mentioned Sauro? Something about 'Sauro's poison.'"

"Sauron," Thranduil growled. "I should have known he wasn't truly destroyed. I suspected with the rise in attacks in the south, but there's been no whisper of him since the war. We'll need to discreetly alert the others. You cannot leave the Greenwood, not only because Nienna has warned you, but it would be dangerous for you to travel in the open."

"So, you'll try to bring the others here?"

Thranduil's mouth thinned in displeasure, but he nodded. "We do not normally allow outsiders within _Eryn Galen_, but we'll have to adjust. I will send missives to Elrond and Amroth as soon as we return to the caverns."

"Despite the circumstances, it'll be good to see Amroth and Celebrían again," she said. "And Meluieth will be pleased to see Lord Elrond."

"I would prefer it if we kept this between us for now."

"Didn't we learn the last time that we shouldn't keep secrets from each other?"

"We're not."

"Thranduil…" She bit her lip. "At least Ellavorn, Haedirn, and Maethor. They're fiercely loyal; it would be a betrayal to exclude them from the information without reason."

"The reason is that we already have a betrayer in our midst." Thranduil studied the trees, his fingers curling through a lock of her hair without realizing it. It was soothing for both of them, so she said nothing. "The reason you were in danger yesterday, the reason three orcs managed to slip past my border guard, was because someone ordered the patrol to move further east."

"Ordered them how?"

"That is what I intend to find out." His eyes grew cold, and the predator she'd seen so long ago was back.

"You don't seriously think it's one of those three, do you?" Charlotte turned in his arms in surprise. Thranduil's frown told her everything she needed to know. "They're not Nemir, Thranduil," she said. "Those ellyn are basically family at this point. They would die before they betrayed you. Ellavorn was a mess when we ran into him after the attack."

His look of uncertainty, so similar to Legolas's, crushed her. Between Nemir, Lothuial, and Cúthon, she was surprised Thranduil trusted anyone at all. He was sitting in a viper's nest.

"I recognize that look on your face," he chuckled. "Calm yourself, little dragon. You cannot fight all of my enemies for me. Though I'd dearly love to watch you."

His words stirred low in her belly, and a flush bloomed up her neck as she scrambled off of his lap. "We should get back," she said, coughing when the words came out too high.

She couldn't be selfish. He was already buried in orc attacks and dealing with a conniving elleth and a scheming advisor, and she had to figure out how to save the elves she'd poisoned and prevent the Greenwood from falling.

What happened after that though?

She'd briefly considered fleeing the _Eryn Galen_, back when she was still smarting from Meluieth's rejection and her sudden fall from grace, but she actually had people here. Then again, she'd had people in Virginia too. Well, one person. How many days had passed without her thinking about her mother? Shame filled her. Was she already forgetting? Charlotte conjured her mother's face in her mind, just to reassure herself that she still remembered. But were her mother's eyes more blue or grey? How many crows feet peeked from the corners of her gaze? The fine details were slipping away like ash on the wind. She'd been in Middle Earth for a month, but it felt so much longer. The last twenty-four hours alone felt like a year. Would the memory fade entirely before she could even find a way back?

Her previous life never seemed so far away as in that moment, standing in the liminal space where her next choice would no doubt seal her future, one in which Charlotte of Virginia essentially died, taking with her the only remnants of her mother's existence.

"Charlotte?" Thranduil stood behind her, and his concern only made her feel worse.

"I can't do this right now," she whispered. "I just… I shouldn't. There are sick elves and orcs and crazy ellith, and it's just…"

He grabbed her hand gently, tugging her around until her eyes met his soft grey ones. "For once in your life, stop thinking about what you should do and just reach out and seize what you want."

"It's not that simple!" She pulled herself free, stepping away when he tried to follow her. "I can't just disregard the safety and wellbeing of others because I want something."

"You won't be! It's your life. You can't live entirely for somebody else. Caring for others doesn't mean sacrificing yourself."

"I'm not sacrificing myself!"

"What do you call last night then?" He argued. His arms crossed over his chest. "You nearly died!"

"But I didn't!"

"Only because I dragged you out here in the middle of the night. Do you have any idea what it took to bring you back?" His breathing was ragged. "I had to connect my fëa to the forest, and then drag yours out. All in the insane hope that I could spark your fëa to life again. It was so weak when we got you here, I'd thought you'd already left for Mandos's Halls!"

"Are you telling me you jump-started my fëa like a car battery?"

"I have no idea what half of those words mean," he huffed.

"You used the forest and your fëa to restart my fëa?"

"Vaguely, yes." He ran a hand through his hair, and she noticed how tired he looked. He must not have slept the entire time she was out. Yet another thing to feel awful for. "It was the only thing I could think to do," he said. "There's no cure for fading, at least not one that can be given by another. You already have a connection to the forest, and we've developed one in our time together. It's maybe more accurate to say I coaxed your fëa, and it worked enough that it was dim but there. It kept it stable until your fëa suddenly flooded just before you woke. I only made the connection to keep you from fading. Something I wouldn't have needed to do if you weren't recklessly tossing away your life."

"That's entirely unfair! I was trying to help your people!"

"And you can do that, safely, without nearly ending your existence. You're allowed to live and be happy, Charlotte."

"You don't get it! I _poisoned _them, Thranduil. How can I even think about being happy when they're suffering because of me?" She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying. She was so sick of tears. Sick of feeling weak and useless and damnit, she used to be the one who took care of others. Now, she only made things worse.

"It wasn't your fault!" He insisted. "Charlotte, you didn't do this to them on purpose. Stop punishing yourself. Your happiness isn't currency for their welfare. It won't heal them."

She shook her head, stepping into the shadows of the tree line, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. Her hands pressed against the bark of the nearest tree, needing to feel, to be grounded. The giant beech came to life beneath her touch, and the call of the forest sang through her blood, more potent than she'd ever felt before. He was there, deep within the song, a constant presence weaving throughout, and she hung her head, knowing even as she listened, that he had invaded her own heart just as thoroughly.

His hand closed around her arm, and the forest spun as he gently turned her. "I will respect whatever it is you desire," he said. His body arched over hers, warm and inviting, and his voice sent tremors down her spine. Her head tilted to meet his eyes, even as his lips hovered above hers, teasing her with the illusion of his touch. "But I'm begging you," he whispered against her mouth, "please, decide based on what _you_ truly desire. I will endure thousands of years accepting whatever part of your heart you're willing to offer me, but the last thing I want is to be just your friend."

His lips crashed down on hers, hands diving into her hair, curling her back to deepen his kiss, and she was lost in him. Her fingers clutched to him as the world both spun and stilled, and her heart threatened to pound out from her chest. His mouth was scalding against hers, firm and insistent, soothing and inciting until, just as she thought she would collapse from it all, he pulled back, his chest heaving in time with hers, and he rested his forehead against her own with his dark lashes kissing the pale skin of his cheeks.

Each desperate breath caressed her skin as he said, "To clarify: I wish to be your friend, but I want more, so much more, than mere friendship. If you'll have me?" His eyelids fluttered up, revealing the thin sliver of stormy grey around dark pupils.

How could she have ever thought she could resist this? When her heart was hammering against her ribs, and her very soul was begging to twine with his? She beamed at him, felt the corners of her eyes crinkling with unrestrained joy, and her hands cupped his face as she flung herself up on tiptoe to seal her lips against his.

He caught her, fingers delving down to her hips, pulling her flush against his body while his tongue traced the line of her mouth, begging until she opened, sweeping through her while his feet drove them, stumbling until she slammed her back against a tree. His hips pressed against her, pinning her in place, the heat of his body scorching against her.

His thumbs slipped beneath her tunic, the callouses from training scratching against her smooth skin. When his hand splayed wide across her spine, she arched, stealing a decadent groan from his lips. The sound sent heat pooling between her thighs, and she slipped her fingers into his hair to tug him closer, just as his fingers abandoned their quest, gliding down her body until they lifted her legs to wrap around him. His lips traveled over her cheek, down to her neck, placing burning kisses against her skin. When his tongue darted out, lapping gently at her pulse, she clenched to him, felt his hardness pressed against her center, and she cursed the layers between them.

"Thranduil," she moaned, and his lips stole the sound from her mouth. She swore his answering sigh rippled within her. Her fingers gently tugged his hair, arching her back to feel more of him.

When he pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers, she fluttered her drowsy eyelids open, enjoying the sight of his swollen lips and tousled hair, imagining that she appeared just as ravaged by his efforts.

"Bed," he panted.

"Absolutely."

Thranduil chuckled, his nose rubbing the tip of hers as he gently shook his head. "To sleep. You're still recovering, _meleth nîn_."

The disappointment must have been clear on her face because his eyes darkened, and he arched his hips against her, drawing a gasp from her as his hardness pressed against her core.

"I have had weeks to plan what I want to do with you," he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. "When we bond, I plan to do it where Maethor and Haedirn won't hear me." Her skin pebbled beneath his words, his lips brushing over her mouth. "Because when I bond with you, I'm going to tear the caverns down around us."

His lips swallowed her moan, though he kept it painfully brief. And when he set her back on her feet, both of them beaming and flushed, she found herself wishing for that cold bath again, because, though Thranduil had dowsed her fever, he'd set her ablaze.

* * *

AN: Like? Dislike? Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I'm so excited that you're enjoying the story!


	30. Unstable

The bright flush on her skin would be permanent, she decided as she narrowed her eyes at Haedirn's smug smirk. He'd dropped from the trees almost immediately after Thranduil had summoned him, and Charlotte worried about what else he'd heard.

"Finally," her guard said, his lips twitching upward into a genuine smile.

Even Berior looked overly pleased with himself as if he had single-handedly pushed the two of them together.

She was grateful for Maethor, who had simply given her an affectionate smile before quietly disappearing into the canopy to check in with the guards. "The morning patrol should have taken over by now," he said. "I'll gather their report before we try to move through the forest."

"So, when's the wedding?" Haedirn asked casually. He propped himself against a beech tree and crossed his arms.

It only made her think of the rough bark against her back as Thranduil pressed his lips to hers, the delicious heat of him scorching through her clothes.

"We haven't discussed it yet," Thranduil said, shooting her a deliriously happy grin.

That doused her in ice water. Wedding? After one kiss? _One mind-blowing kiss_, her brain whispered. But still. Had he asked? She tried to plaster on a contented smile while her mind tripped over everything, trying to figure out where she'd missed the step that led from kissing to bonding for life.

Bonding.

The two ellyn had shifted their discussion to the night patrol's final report, oblivious to the mental chaos reigning in her skull. In her post-kiss haze, she had thought Thranduil's "when I bond with you" statement was simply another flowery euphemism for sex, like the Elven equivalent of "making love."

But she knew better. Amroth had taught her about bonds at Celebrían and Elrond's wedding, and she'd seen the effects of the newlyweds' bond on their fëar. Thranduil desperately desired that rare, meaningful connection for himself. After his relationship with Nemir, she couldn't blame him. But bonding was an eternal merging of souls, and Thranduil didn't know about hers yet. How could he when she'd only just found out? He didn't realize that her fëa was different. What if they _couldn't_ bond?

She needed to find out, quickly, before Thranduil committed the rest of his existence to her and lost the chance at the one thing he wanted most.

Charlotte glanced up at his profile. Joy radiated from his skin, and his eyes were bright. One dimple peeked out from the corner of his mouth, and she caught herself imagining pressing her lips to the spot to see his reaction.

It would be difficult, but she would walk away if it meant he would have a chance at the kind of soul-deep relationship he desired.

He must've sensed her gaze because he shifted his weight, his hand subtly drifting beside hers, and she shivered as his fingers traced the vein in her hand. Delving into the gap at her thumb, he swept against her palm, turning her hand until he could merge it with his, weaving between her bones, scraping down to the tips before sliding up, up, to flutter against her racing pulse.

Somehow this ellon managed to rile her with just the touch of his hand. The embers left over from his last kiss grew hotter, and each pass of his fingers fanned the flames higher until a strange urge surged beneath her skin.

Haedirn was still giving the border reports, though he'd moved on to discuss the few spider sightings in the south, and she tried to quiet the roaring in her body so she could pay attention. She was somehow exhausted and wired, the sensory input from Thranduil drowning out her currently limited capacity for processing their conversation. If it went on much longer, she would likely jump Thranduil or fall asleep on him.

Thranduil seemed oblivious to the chaos he was inciting, his movements so natural that she'd _almost_ think he was doing them subconsciously, but there was something deliciously sensual about the way his fingers caressed her skin. Her sneaky Elvenking knew precisely what he was doing to her.

"What happened when they tried to follow it back to the nest?" Thranduil asked as his nail scraped her inner wrist, only for the soft pads of his fingers to stroke down her palm and splay her hand wide between their bodies.

She suddenly had a vivid idea of what he'd do to her once he lured her into his bed.

She shivered, and Thranduil barely covered a satisfied smirk before he said to Haedirn, "Excellent. As soon as we reach the caverns, we'll send a missive to Elrond to alert him."

"I thought the Lord wouldn't be traveling until spring? Will he be entering the forest?"

"I'll explain what we know when we reach my chambers," Thranduil said. "We've been away long enough, and we'll need Ellavorn as well." He turned to Charlotte, and she could almost believe she'd imagined the whole thing; he was the picture of innocence. "I can relate the information if you would prefer to rest?"

She was tired, but she didn't want to miss anything significant for the sake of a nap. Fresh from death's doorstep or not, there were still sick elves to heal and orcs to defeat, and evil dark lords returned from the grave, and maybe that nap was a good idea after all.

One disaster at a time.

"I think I'll go to the library first," she said. She needed answers, and that seemed the best place to start. It was where she would have started in Virginia at least: with thorough research and a literature review.

Thranduil sighed but nodded. "I will tell them everything on the way back then. I will not risk you being unguarded for now, and I doubt they would leave your side anyway. The journey is short, but you're welcome to ride with me so that you may rest before you bury yourself in the library."

It was a solid compromise, and she knew she was tired enough that Berior's swaying gait would drift her to dreamland and have her dropping to her back in the dirt without someone to stop it.

Maethor descended from the canopy a moment after and let out a piercing whistle to summon their horses. "The path is clear, though there is some commotion in the caverns. If something has happened, the guards do not know the specifics yet."

"Then, we need to get back," Thranduil said. He gently wrapped his hand in hers and escorted her to Berior, waiting for permission before lifting her to sit sideways across her elk's back. Then he was behind her, pulling her into the cove of his arms until she settled her head against his shoulder. He smelled crisp and wild, the embodiment of the forest, and it was both soothing and thrilling. With a smirk, she skimmed her nose along the vein in his neck, lips dusting the racing pulse beneath his skin before pressing a featherlight kiss to the hollow behind his ear.

His answering groan vibrated through her skin. "Wicked little elleth," he breathed. "You don't know what that does to me. What it will do to you." His mouth danced at the newly curved tip of her ear, and a tremor shuddered through her when his heat met the delicate skin. "I will thoroughly enjoy teaching you about all of the… sensitive… places an elf possesses."

Berior suddenly picked up his pace, and Haedirn and Maethor had to urge their mounts faster when the elk trotted past them. Thranduil tightened his hold on the reins and tensed his thighs on the elk. "Settle, Berior. There is no need to rush," he said.

The elk snorted but barely slowed, racing through the forest as if spiders were on their heels.

She was right about one thing: the swaying motion, coupled with Thranduil's warmth and scent, ushered her into sleep before she could think twice about pursuing those Elven anatomy lessons Thranduil had so graciously offered.

Charlotte was jolted awake by the screaming.

"She needs to fix him!" an elleth shouted.

"She will be down to examine him after she rests," Thranduil said coldly. "In case you have forgotten, she drained herself putting the others to sleep last night."

Charlotte cracked her eyes open to see Thranduil, stone-faced and livid under the softly-glowing orbs in the caverns. She did not want to be the elleth on the other side of that glare. Thranduil must've felt her move because he glanced down, his face morphing, smoothing away the anger until only concern remained in his lowered brows and soft grey eyes. "Everything is fine," he murmured. "You deserve to rest after all you've been through." His arms pulled her against him, and she realized he had carried her into the caverns.

"Please," the elleth said, and Charlotte's body tensed as she recognized the voice, a voice she had wondered if she would ever hear again. "He is my _hanner_ and all that I have left. Please, do not make him wait and suffer," Meluieth begged.

The blood drained from her body as her fuzzy brain realized what Meluieth was saying. There was only one illness Meluieth would think Charlotte could heal.

"Galion is under the river curse?" Charlotte asked.

"They found him a few hours ago." Meluieth's voice wobbled. "If he's like the others, he'll wake soon."

And only suffering would follow. Galion would be forced to relive his most agonizing moments while his _muinthel_ helplessly watched.

The king and the ellon warred in Thranduil's expression, but Charlotte had already decided. She slid herself free, feet settling shakily on the stone, and Thranduil held an arm out to support her. Maybe he had been right about needing to rest before she dove into research, but now her path was clear.

"Take me to him," Charlotte said. She jutted her chin, trying to adopt Thranduil's regal pose as she followed Meluieth through the corridors, attempting to hide the temporary frailness of her body. Thoughts of Varda's warning, the threat of burning out her fëa, speared through her mind. Thranduil didn't know about that yet, or he surely would've argued with her. As it was, she could tell he was displeased with the idea of her using the necklace so soon after nearly fading.

Thranduil clasped her wringing hands in his own and gently squeezed. "You don't have to do this."

Charlotte didn't say anything. Galion was only sick because of her, which was reason enough to try to alleviate his pain before it could start. Besides, it had taken multiple cursed elves to wear her down to the point of fading. One elf wouldn't be too hard, right?

Except, she was still recovering, and the excess energy in her fëa had been discharged into the forest song.

Thranduil rubbed his thumb over her hand. "I will not leave your side," he vowed, the low rumble of his voice quiet enough for only her to hear.

They heard the sobbing before they reached the healing hall, and Meluieth hitched up her skirt to run the rest of the way, throwing open the heavy oaken doors with a bang.

Galion was thrashing against three other guards when they entered. The sheets and pillow lay scattered on the floor beside his bed, and though his screams could be heard down the hall, the handful of cursed elves remained asleep in their beds.

"No, please!" Galion cried. His hands clawed at his captors. "I have to help him! Let me go! Elros? ELROS!" Tears streaked down his cheeks, and he had a gash in his hairline where the blonde locks had matted together with thick dark blood. It painted the side of his face burgundy.

"Do _something_," Meluieth snapped at her. Tears ran down her cheeks in rivers.

Charlotte tightened her arm on Thranduil, sent up a quick prayer to whoever was listening, and ripped off the veil shielding her light, letting the full force of it chase the shadows from the room.

The effect on Galion was instantaneous. His body stilled, and his pupils constricted, the sea of his irises swelling across the darkness. The guards hesitantly stepped back as he slumped. "The stars weep, Elros," he whispered. His eyes dripped tears of reverence. "Do you see them?"

"I do," an elf said quietly, and Charlotte finally glanced beyond Galion's narrow bed to see another elf arranged in the next one. "I see them, _mellon nin_," Elros said.

It was startling to see a conscious sane elf in the healing hall. His leg was wrapped from mid-thigh to calf in white linen bandages, and a pillow was stuffed under his knee for support. Sweat beaded along his flushed brow, and his arms shook as he tried to hold himself in position without disturbing his injured leg. As awful as he appeared, he was still the least of her problems.

Meluieth was a mess beside her _hannar_. Her frantic fingers whispered through Galion's hair, searching for the cut beneath the layers of sticky blood, and when her probing digits discovered the source, Charlotte both felt and heard Galion's wince.

"I'll have to clean the blood away," Meluieth said, "but it doesn't look deep. All this blood is just because it's a head injury." She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. "I'll need you to put him to sleep before I try to clean it. I wasn't even able to look at it before. I don't know if he'll let me take care of it while he's awake."

"Will it be safe?" Charlotte asked. Her legs were wobbling beneath her, and she allowed herself a brief moment to lean on Thranduil. His grip tightened before she could pull away.

"We're facing the same issue as before." Meluieth assembled fresh linen and hung a kettle of water to boil over a bowl-shaped iron brazier against the far wall. The smoke curled and twisted up to a small hole in the cavernous ceiling. "If we don't, he'll likely injure himself like the others. And..." She pinched her lips for a moment, debating. "I would rather not sedate him with any of my herbs or medicines. I don't know what he's had to drink lately or how much."

Charlotte nodded in understanding and slowly crossed the stone floor to sit beside Galion. Thranduil held his spot beside her, still clutching her arm. Whether to reassure her or himself, she wasn't sure. But she was thankful for him and for her two protective guards who stationed themselves on either side of her. Especially when Haedirn gently redirected Galion's hand when the elf reached for her hair in wonder.

"Hello, _mellon nin_," Charlotte said softly, wrapping her hand around his before he could try to grab her again. "Close your eyes."

The last time she'd done this, she only had to think of Legolas. Her love for him had been just enough to put the elves to sleep, but not strong enough to heal them completely. Still, something was better than nothing, so she focused on how she loved his cute dimples. She loved the way his eyes lit up as he shot his bow or climbed a tree or stole apples. Her mind replayed hundreds of tiny moments from her month with him: when she met him, and he introduced himself as "Legolas of Both," his desire to have a horse named _Limlug_, his adoration for Berior... it seemed endless.

But it didn't work.

"I don't understand," she whispered. Panic welled inside her. Why wasn't it working? It worked before!

"Try again," Meluieth insisted. Her fists were clenched so tightly, her knuckles were white.

Charlotte closed her eyes and dug deeper, whipping through images: Legolas teaching her Sindarin. Dancing with him at the wedding. Watching him lead Berior across the narrow crevices in the mountains. Legolas flinging himself at her after the orc attack. He'd been in such terrible pain then, terrified that she'd abandoned him as his mother had—

"How can you not remember how you did it?" Meluieth cried. "You managed all the others, and now, when I need you most, you cannot manage to save my _hannar_?"

"I'm trying!" Charlotte growled.

"Clearly!"

"_I _would never abandon a friend," Charlotte hissed. "When I say I am trying, you can trust that I am putting everything into it. I don't _know_ why it won't work."

"Get her out of my healing hall," Meluieth said. Her nostrils flared, and she flung her arm toward the door. "Out!" She barked.

But Thranduil had endured enough. "Sit. Down." He ordered his healer, his voice snapping like a whip. His temper was raging, and his control was about to burst. "This is _my_ healing hall, and you will not insult and demean an emissary from the Valar. Especially since you know little of what she has already sacrificed—"

"Thranduil." Charlotte shook her head gently. _Please_, she tried to say with her eyes.

Thranduil's mouth popped open in shock before a pleased grin stole over his features, so at odds with his previous storm, and then she heard him clearly in her mind, _"My, my, aren't we the quick study?" _Pride oozed from his words, and she lost herself in the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. _"This will be such a delight to use later."_

_"Behave, you." _

Meluieth seemed gratefully confused for the Elvenking's sudden docileness and stayed mercifully silent as Charlotte refocused on Galion.

She tried every combination of memories: love for Legolas, for Thranduil, for her guards. She even tried thoughts of Berior, her very first friend in Middle Earth, but nothing worked. She worked at it until her stomach was twisting from hunger and her limbs quaked. A sharp stabbing pain had started at her temples, and she felt an odd fluttering in her chest.

"Enough," Thranduil ordered. His voice was firm, but soft.

Charlotte jerked in her spot and glanced around. Maethor and Haedirn were polishing daggers behind her, and the other guards had disappeared to rest in the few remaining empty beds. How much time had passed? She wasn't sure, but her body felt ransacked. Still, Galion was wide-eyed and awake, and she knew the moment she left, he would descend into madness once more. Without thinking, she stretched out to try again.

Thranduil's hand darted out to seize her wrist. "Charlotte," he said. "You almost died—"

"What?" Meluieth's face paled, but Thranduil continued as if he hadn't spoken. Charlotte suspected he'd meant for the healer to hear him, and she shot him a glare.

"You should be resting right now," he continued, ignoring her irate expression. "I can see your fëa flickering. It's not safe to keep trying. Eat, rest, do your research, and then you can try again."

"Thranduil, I—"

"I'm not ordering it, yet, but I will if I have to," he said. "I don't want to, but I don't let my healers practice when they're compromised. The same applies to you."

He was right. Of course, he was right, but how could she walk away when her friend was in such pain? She felt a shiver race down her spine and realized she was sweating, her damp hair sticking to her forehead. "Fine," she caved, irritated with her lack of usefulness.

Meluieth sniffed, her mouth twisting with the same thought.

"I'll be back soon," Charlotte promised.

"After she sleeps," Thranduil added.

"And eats," Haedirn jumped in.

"Anything else?" Charlotte's eyes narrowed at the unrepentant ellyn. "I've conceded defeat; let's not push it." The three of them were such mother hens sometimes, but she honestly appreciated that someone else was trying to care for her for once in her life. It would've rankled more if she didn't know that she could politely tell them all to shove it, and they would respect her choice.

Maethor shot her an understanding smile as he slid his dagger into its sheath against his hip. "The sooner you take care of their demands, the sooner you can get back to healing."

She tried not to look back at Meluieth as the ellyn ushered her from the hall, but at the last moment, she peeked through the doors, her heart shattering as Meluieth crumbled into her hands and sobbed. The agony across her friend's face was excruciating, Meluieth's pain at watching her brother fall apart the further Charlotte went. The guards swarmed him as he screamed and flailed. Heat flared at her collarbones, and she felt the tingling in her fëa like her heart was flickering.

"No!" Thranduil shouted, yanking her flush against him as her legs gave out. Her vision closed in as she watched Galion drop unconscious on his bed, Meluieth springing up to check on him, and suddenly Thranduil's light filled the corridor, slamming into her fëa with a jolt.

Her eyes cleared, though she still felt shaky and tired. "I'm fine," she said and squeezed his hand. "Just take me to bed. Please."

"You're going to kill me if we don't figure this out soon," he muttered.

"That'll make two of us," she joked weakly. Thranduil's face crumpled. "Too soon?"

"Always," he swore, tightening his grip on her so she could stumble along beside him. "I don't suppose you'll let me carry you?"

"Nope." She said though she was tempted. Charlotte just wanted to feel like the strong, capable woman she used to be, and being carried into the sunset like a damsel wouldn't help her already flagging pride.

Varda's warning echoed in her mind, and she still had to tell Thranduil somehow. Not to mention, her two protective guards would need to be informed that she could burn out her own soul until there was nothing left to sustain her. They'd never let her into the healing hall again.

She briefly considered keeping it from them but knew she wouldn't, not after encouraging Thranduil to be open and honest with them. It might be easier to take if they had more information though. A trip to the library would have to come first, and then she would tell them. They already worried enough, and she was tired, so tired of dropping into oblivion every time her unstable fëa ran low.

Is this how her mother had felt at first? Slowly losing control over her body? Over her life? At least Charlotte retained her memories afterward. The realization settled like a stone in her stomach. Her mother hadn't had a choice either. Would Charlotte waste away like that? Would Maethor and Haedirn be required to babysit her around the clock? She couldn't, wouldn't do that to them. And Thranduil. It had been agony watching her mother drift away. Could she force him to watch as she broke before his eyes?

Answers. She needed research and information, but it looked more and more like she was leading Thranduil down another pathway that ended in misery and heartbreak. Because somehow, she was supposed to protect the Greenwood, and that sounded far more intensive than healing a few enchanted elves.

Thranduil rubbed a thumb over her hand as if trying to smooth out the ripples in her mind. "Would you join me tonight?" He asked. She darted her eyes up to meet his hopeful silver ones. "For dinner in my chambers? It would be just the two of us."

Could she? Her mind raced over the possibilities, always coming to at least one consistent conclusion: she owed him the truth and a choice. Even knowing all the heartbreak and pain involved, she still would've chosen to care for her mother, and she cherished every one of those memories. Thranduil deserved that same choice, and maybe he would have a solution, or the library would provide a one.

"I'd love to," she said, hoping that she sounded sincere. For as much as she was looking forward to an evening with Thranduil, she was dreading breaking both of their hearts.

* * *

Translations:

Muinthel — Sister/ Dear Sister

AN: Reading your reviews for the last chapter was absolutely everything! Thank you so much! We've really been building up to that special moment, so I'm thrilled it didn't disappoint! As you can tell by this chapter, the gloves are off for our lovebirds. Hope you like this new chapter! I'm hoping to have another one out sometime within the next week!


	31. Translation Issues

There wasn't a single swirl of dust as Charlotte slammed the book shut with a groan of frustration. Of course, everything in the library was impeccably kept and written in the beautiful, flowing _Tengwar_.

And she couldn't read a word of it.

Foolishly hoping she might be able to puzzle her way through it on her own, she'd grabbed books that looked promising and was quickly smacked with her own limitations. The sealed doors on the far side of the chamber loomed over her. Maethor and Haedirn stood guard just outside, but they didn't know about her soul problem yet.

She fiddled with the skirt of her borrowed gown. She'd had no reason not to wear one of Celebrían's dresses, and it felt divine to be both clean and swathed in silky fabric. Her dinner with Thranduil had absolutely nothing to do with the level of attention she'd applied to her appearance. At all.

There were only a few hours before her self-imposed deadline, and she had somehow not accounted for the massive language barrier when she planned her excursion to the expansive library on the lower level of the Elven caverns. She'd wanted answers before she told anybody. Now her hand was forced.

Without a translator, she couldn't get any research accomplished. Learning _Tengwar_ had been on her massively long list of things to do, but it had slowly flittered to the bottom of her priorities, dropping far below things like: don't let the Greenwood fall, stop accidentally cursing the populace, cure previously mentioned cursed populace, and then get back to the river to undo her damage. She still had to find someone willing to teach her _Tengwar_, and though she was surrounded by elves who read the language, she'd learned long ago that the possession of knowledge did not automatically make a person a good teacher. Plus, she was essentially persona non grata with most of the elves in _Eryn Galen_.

They really needed to form a school in the Greenwood. Meluieth could only get training for a single week once a year after a month-long journey; two months if the return trip was included, and she was fortunate enough to be friends with a king who could make the trip happen. How many elves wouldn't be able to make such a journey? And what about the elflings? There weren't many—scratch that, there was only one elfling, but surely there had been more at one point? Or elves who hadn't grown up with private tutors and lacked access to education? She'd have to ask Thranduil about it later. Someone should definitely look into it.

Even if they did open a school, it still wouldn't be in time for her to learn _Tengwar_ and hunt through all the books and scrolls in the library.

The heavy door groaned open, and Charlotte sighed, dropping her face into her hands. "Perfect timing," she said. "I seem to have forgotten that I can't read these myself." She'd never felt so dependent, and now she was forced to ask for help in something she considered to be tantamount to her career.

"Well, I can help you!" A cheerful voice replied, and Charlotte jerked her head up. She had been expecting Maethor or Haedirn, but it was Legolas who padded silently across the stone floors, dressed as regally as his adar in a silver tunic and a dainty twisting circlet. The elfling noticed her gaze and pulled the crown from his hair with a sheepish grin. "Adar let me attend his meetings today," he explained.

"By yourself?"

"He was there too," Legolas said. He plopped into the carved chair beside her and dragged one of her books over. "I wouldn't want to meet Lord Cúthon alone again." His eyes widened. "I mean, it's not that I don't like him, it's just— and I—"

"Legolas, it's okay." Charlotte patted his hand soothingly. She didn't like the sneaky ellon either, but she imagined that, as the prince, Legolas needed to avoid speaking ill of his advisors. "I understand. Cúthon can be intimidating."

Legolas nodded, but he was still frowning, his fingertips tracing the curls on the book cover. When he caught her stare, he shrugged, and his lips twitched into a weak smile. "What are you looking for?" He asked, tapping the book twice.

How much to say? She wouldn't tell him about her fëa before she told Thranduil, and she didn't want to tell _him_ before she had answers. "I'm looking for information on Elven gods."

Were they even gods? She'd never seen a place of worship in any of the Elven settlements, though she'd heard the occasional invocation. They were obviously powerful enough to create a soul and shift a mortal into a different world and body.

Legolas shoved the books away. "You won't find much about them in these books. These are all the citizen records: begettings, deaths, sailings, beheadings."

"Beheadings?"

Legolas laughed. "I'm just joking. We don't behead elves, silly."

"No, of course not." She thought about it for a moment and asked, "Is everyone in here? Would I be in one of these books?"

"I don't know. You weren't born like an elfling, but you are a citizen now, right?" He didn't wait for her answer. His little hands shifted the books around, stacking the ones he didn't want and shoving them aside until he flipped open a heavy leather-bound tomb. Thumbing through the pages, he said, "I think they would have written your name in with your arrival date, instead of guessing your begetting day. Or maybe they would've considered _that_ your begetting day since you didn't exist here before then. Aha!" He pointed triumphantly at a half-filled page, his finger dropping on the last line of sloping letters, and waited for Charlotte to read them.

Charlotte pinched her lips to hold her laugh. Legolas looked so pleased with himself. He'd yet to realize the problem.

"Oh, right, my apologies." He cleared his throat and flushed, before reading aloud, "'Charlotte _Anniuel_. They left your adar name blank, but they wrote, 'Beget by the Valar.' Is that why you want to know about them?"

Charlotte chewed her lip. "Sort of."

"Well, I know all fourteen of them," he said proudly. "Even _Melkor_, though he's not a Valar anymore. Elbereth is my favorite, but all elves love her most because she made the stars."

Stars. She remembered the orbs popping into existence when she'd been trapped in limbo and the beautiful elleth who'd glowed just as brightly. But she hadn't been called "Elbereth." She'd had another name. "Does she also go by Varda?"

Legolas nodded.

One of the puzzle pieces wiggled into place, and her stomach lurched with the implications. "And what about Nienna? Do they share any connections?"

His tiny brow scrunched as he thought it over. "Nienna is one of the Valar queens, like Elbereth, but she's known as the Lady of Grief and Sorrow. Golodhon says she's also the Lady of Pity and Courage, but most elves only think of her first title."

Charlotte leaned forward on her elbow and dropped her chin onto her fist. There had to be something tying the two elleth together... some reason these two particular queens would take an interest in a mortal. Her free hand tapped against the wood grain, beating staccato. What she wouldn't do for a computer… not that any search engine she knew of would host the answers she was looking for. When computers failed in her research at home, there was always another avenue. Books were beyond her reach at the moment, so she was left with the next best thing. "Who is Golodhon?"

"My tutor," Legolas scrunched his nose in distaste. "I have to spend the entire morning studying with him before I'm allowed to practice my archery. But a good prince must be able to maneuver the throne room as well as the battlefield. Even though battles are much more exciting."

Charlotte chuckled. No matter where she was, some things never changed. "I can't imagine that would be that spectacular." Now it was her turn to scrunch her nose. "All the blood and the smell and the noise." She shivered dramatically, and Legolas laughed. "No, thank you, you won't catch me prancing about a battlefield."

"I'll protect you!" Legolas straightened in his chair, grinning wildly. "I can be your _gwaethann_."

"My _what_?"

"It means 'bonded shield," Legolas said. He practically bounced in his chair. "They're incredibly rare. I think Glorfindel is Elrond's _gwaethann_, but I'm not sure."

She really needed to formally meet this other reborn elf lord. It seemed like he had all the answers, and she was beginning to wonder if she was supposed to stay in Imladris after all. She'd only made a mess of things in _Eryn Galen_. But then she remembered Nienna's warning was specifically about the Greenwood falling.

"Does Lord Glorfindel go everywhere that Lord Elrond goes?" Charlotte asked, her brain working over the possibilities. "Say, for example, if Lord Elrond went to visit _Lórinand, _would Glorfindel follow him?"

"Absolutely. He doesn't travel anywhere without his captain. That's why I think Glorfindel is his _gwaethann_. Adar doesn't take _his_ captain with him everywhere."

Thranduil seemed infinitely more lethal though. She still remembered the first moment she saw him in _Imladris_, parting the crowd of elves without so much as a glance. As if those around him sensed a predator and adjusted accordingly. He would have no need to be under constant guard.

If Glorfindel truly followed Elrond everywhere, then he would arrive with the elves from _Imladris_ when they came to visit. She hoped Thranduil had already sent the letter inviting them to attend the council. Glorfindel might have the answers she was looking for.

"Charlotte?"

"Hmm?"

"Is there anything else you need help with?" Legolas asked. There was an odd hopeful gleam in his eyes that she narrowed her gaze at. The elfling squirmed in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his ankles and ducking his chin down to avoid her gaze.

"Legolas?"

"Yes?"

She raised a brow, and that was all it took for Legolas to crack.

He sighed dejectedly and mumbled, "I know a prince is never late, but I really don't want to go back to the meeting with Lord Cúthon."

Charlotte bit her lip. She wanted to get him out of the meeting, but would that benefit him in the long run? "I know you're not fond of him, but he's your adar's advisor. Wouldn't it be best for you to understand his role and see how he helps your adar?"

"But he's not helping him!" Legolas shoved the book away and crossed his arms. "He's just worried about his betrothal contract with Lady Lothuial."

"I doubt that's entirely true," she said, thinking of Thranduil's plan to bond with her. It did raise another concern: what would Cúthon and Lothuial do when they found out their plan had been thwarted?

"You didn't see them," Legolas insisted. "Lord Cúthon told Lothuial they'd be married by _Mereth Nuin Giliath_."

"I don't think your adar is interested in an arranged marriage with Lothuial."

It was clear that Thranduil hadn't had a moment to talk with Legolas yet regarding their recent relationship development. It had only been a few hours, so not much time to break the news, but a part of her wondered if he was feeling just as uncertain as she was about where they stood. Their impending dinner suddenly felt weightier.

"It is true," Legolas grumped. He flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the tabletop. "I saw the contract. Adar signed it. It had his seal and everything."

"What?" She shook her head. No. Thranduil wouldn't lie to her. He'd said he hadn't signed it. "Maybe it's another contract."

"Maybe," Legolas said, though he didn't sound convinced. He bit his lip, then frowned as he studied his hands. "Do you think I'll have to call her Naneth?"

Her eyes drifted closed, and she huffed. This was such a mess. If Legolas knew, he wouldn't have to worry about Lothuial, but Charlotte didn't know where she stood with either of her favorite elves. Thranduil would probably want to speak to him himself, right? What if it wasn't the fact that it was Lothuial? Legolas was abandoned by his naneth only a month ago. Maybe he didn't want another naneth at all.

Legolas seemed oblivious to the pale sheen that had stolen over Charlotte's face. He clenched his fists and spoke to the table. "She's not my naneth. I will _not_ call her that. Ever."

"Little leaf," Charlotte gently nudged him with her shoulder until he looked at her. His enormous blue eyes were glassy, and his teeth had ripped through his lower lip. "I'm sure if— _when_ your adar marries, he'll consult you first. Your adar loves you very much. If such an event were to happen, you could decide together what to call his wife. Maybe you'll use her name, or you'll come up with your own special nickname."

"You mean like, 'Nana' instead of 'Naneth?'" His little face crumpled. "Naneth only ever let me call her 'Naneth' in private. Otherwise, I was supposed to call her Princess Nemir." His boot scuffed across the floor. "She said a prince must always address the nobility using their proper titles. She was really angry with Elrond and Celebrían for not making me call them lord and lady, but it's alright because we used their titles when Naneth was around so she wouldn't be upset. Do you think I'll have to call Lothuial' Queen Lothuial' all the time?" His mouth warped as if he tasted something foul.

Charlotte barely heard his question. Her skin was itching; she was so livid with Nemir. Was there any way this elleth hadn't shoved Legolas away? Why not let Thranduil have Legolas when he wanted him so fiercely, and she obviously didn't? She had half a mind to sail west just to shred the elleth apart herself for emotionally abandoning both Legolas and Thranduil and then gaslighting them into thinking they deserved it. Both ellyn were surprisingly courageous enough to risk trying for love again, and it was despite that horrible, wretched elleth.

Legolas's happy sigh wrenched her out of her cloud of temper. "Have you figured out how you do that yet?" He asked. His eyes were gently closed, and he had tilted his head back to rest against the chair, the glow of her necklace lighting his face. "Because sometimes I have nightmares and—" He bolted up as if he'd said too much, and his pale cheeks flushed with color.

"I have them too," Charlotte said. She left the details out. Her favorite elfling didn't need to know that she still regularly dreamed about her mother turning into an orc, or enormous spiders chasing her through the forest, or the feel of hot, black blood racing endlessly over her fingers or those moments where her curse had pulled Thranduil apart in front of her. Instead, she said, "You're more than welcome to come find me, no matter what time it is, as long as you let someone know where you're going."

"Really?" His skepticism ripped the wound open again, and she felt the rage bubbling beneath her skin. He didn't even trust that someone would be willing to soothe him after a nightmare.

"Listen to me, Legolas." She pulled him around until she could lock eyes with him. "I promise you, I will be there for you in any way that you need me. You can come to me when you have a nightmare, and I know that your adar would want to be there for you too."

"I don't know..."

"I promise." She gave him a one-armed hug and then ruffled his hair. "I was thinking about sneaking into the kitchens for a little baking this afternoon. I couldn't possibly think of going without my assistant pastry chef."

In reality, she had about a million other things to do, but she was more than willing to spend at least two hours focused on making her favorite elfling feel loved. She could talk to Thranduil about meeting Galadhon at dinner and ask if Lord Elrond's invitation had been sent.

The shadows flew from his face, and he grinned. "I'm in! I just have to tell Adar first. He told me to wait here for him, but he won't mind if I'm with you."

"Excellent." She stood and pulled him with her, leaving the books abandoned on her table for later research. Maybe she could persuade Haedirn or Maethor to give her a history lesson.

...

Hours later, she found herself standing in front of the royal chambers, this time with a fresh apple tart in her hands. It seemed the Greenwood had an endless supply of apples after the harvest, and Idhrenes was more than willing to toss some to Charlotte. Especially after the cook saw Legolas. Idhrenes had immediately put Legolas to work on the crust and, by the end of it, they all wore enough flour to make five pies.

Charlotte popped by her room to bathe and switch out of her dusted gown, exchanging the calming blue for the thickest dress she possessed. The deep burgundy coloring and sweeping bell sleeves made her feel regal and, more importantly, warm. The temperatures were dropping steadily as they marched into winter, and though the caverns were mildly warmer than the house in _Imladris_, they could be drafty. She'd have to invest in winter clothes eventually, one more thing to add to her list.

"Are they not letting you in?"

Charlotte jumped, hands scrambling to save the tart. It flew up, and her eyes widened as she watched it begin to turn before Ellavorn scooped it out of the air.

"Apologies," he grinned, his eyes glittering. His rough hands held out the picturesque tart, and she accepted it with a sigh of relief.

"I hadn't knocked yet."

She eyed the imposing doors. It was just dinner. With Thranduil. And maybe a painful discussion about her wonky fëa.

Maethor and Haedirn were waiting further down the corridor in an illusion of privacy, and she briefly wondered if they would leave as soon as she was ensconced safely in the royal chambers. It felt a little like having a parent drop her at the movies for a date.

Ellavorn was still staring at her, and she imagined she looked ridiculous standing in the corridor clutching a tart. She shook herself and gave him a lopsided grin. "Just admiring the woodwork." Her fingers rapped on the door, which whipped open so fast she was left knocking on air for a moment.

"Wow," Thranduil breathed as his eyes trailed over her, and just like that, all of her anxiety fled.

His hair flowed loose around his shoulders, draping over his charcoal tunic, and his face was relaxed and happy. This was _her_ Thranduil. The version he only showed to those closest to him. Her heart raced, and a swarm of Beorn's bees invaded her brain.

"You look…" she started. Her mind went blank. Dashing? Handsome? All the adjectives in the world felt trite.

"And you…" Thranduil inched closer. His lips parted as if to say more, but no words came.

"Maybe you should take this inside?" Ellavorn suggested, his lips twitching with amusement.

"Right," Thranduil nodded, his cheeks pinking. "Yes, please, come in."

She swore she heard Ellavorn chuckle as the door closed behind her, but Thranduil was escorting her deeper into his chambers, sweeping her further into his home.

They passed a sitting room with plush couches, a dining room with a table long enough for twenty, and an office with an enormous oak desk. She caught a quick glimpse at best, and Thranduil didn't divert into any of the rooms. Instead, he aimed for another set of double doors at the end of the hall.

The rooms they passed were immaculate yet cold. They lacked any of the intimacy she was used to seeing in a home. There were no knick-knacks, no personal items. They reminded her of the fancy showrooms in the city's furniture stores—the empty space echoed around her, devoid of any signs of life besides Thranduil and her.

"I'm surprised this place isn't crawling with guards," she said. Her earlier hesitation would have been far more embarrassing with strangers as witnesses.

"Ellavorn sent them away," Thranduil said. "He's volunteered to guard the corridor for the first part of the evening, and then the regular guards will resume duty for the night. With Maethor and Haedirn included, there will be more guards posted outside than usual."

"Ah." She nibbled her lower lip and searched for something else to say. Finally, she fell back on her manners. "Your home is lovely."

"The entrance and the first few rooms are for meeting with guests," he explained, and for some reason, she felt relieved. He stopped in front of the double doors, his infectious grin wide, and he said, "This is the divide between the king's chambers and our family rooms. No one is permitted beyond these doors without the family's consent."

"So it's just you and Legolas then?" _And now me_, she thought.

"Mostly, yes. Of course, there is the staff, but that's limited since we don't have a large household right now. It's just Legolas and me. Most of the extra rooms here haven't been fully opened."

He shoved the doors open with a flourish, revealing a circular entrance hall with an enormous skylight filled with glittering stars. She could see another sitting room with a fireplace to the left, but Thranduil took her to an intimate dining room on the opposite side. The long table was already set for two, and covered silver dishes reflected the flickering candles that lined the center.

"I'm afraid Idhrenes might have sent more than we could possibly eat," Thranduil said. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck.

Charlotte found this shy side of him just as endearing as the seductive one she'd encountered in the forest, and she realized she wasn't the only one with a reason to be nervous. Thranduil's last relationship hadn't been amicable, after all. Squeezing his hand to reassure him, she said, "Where's Legolas tonight?"

"Idhrenes is keeping him occupied for now," Thranduil said, pulling out a tall-back wooden chair for her. "He's taken a sudden interest in baking, apparently." He smiled meaningfully at the tart in her hands before gently taking it from her to place among the other dishes.

The cook had really overdone it for their dinner. Between the roasted venison and silverfish, potatoes, a huge bowl of salad, and a dish of roasted pumpkin seeds, they could've easily fed ten people.

"I made sure to avoid rabbit when I requested this," Thranduil said, offering her the platter of roasted meats. "You don't seem to like it any more now than at the wedding."

Charlotte grinned beneath her blush. "You noticed that?" Elrond and Celebrían's wedding felt so long ago, and it was just after she first met Thranduil.

"I told you: I notice everything," he said. "Which brings me to another point, albeit sooner than I had intended."

"Oh?"

"When I mentioned our bonding to Haedirn, you looked upset." He pushed his potatoes around with his fork before setting it aside, folding his hands, and locking onto her eyes. "If you're not ready…"

"No," she dropped her own fork, and then realizing what it sounded like, said, "Well, yes, sort of, but it's not that. I honestly was surprised, but I shouldn't have been. I just... there's something I need to tell you before you commit to this, to me."

Her stomach was twisting. She didn't want to let him go, didn't want to do this, but she wasn't starting a relationship with him with lies, and he deserved a chance at a real bond.

Thranduil sighed and reached for a dark wine bottle to fill his silver goblet. "I have a feeling I'll need the Dorwinion. You look like you're going to be ill. Would you like some?"

"No," she said, but then, "Actually, yes, please." A small bit might ease her nerves. What if he walked away?

Thranduil poured her a full goblet, far beyond what was probably healthy, and then took a healthy sip of his own.

She was working up the courage to tell him when he said, "Legolas said you used the necklace on him today."

The wine sloshed in her hand as she turned. "I did. By accident, that is."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed, and he studied her as if searching for the answer to an incredibly frustrating problem. "And you're still standing?"

"Obviously?"

"Hmm." He tipped his goblet, and the red-tinted his bottom lip for a moment before his tongue darted out to trace the moisture.

"You're making that face again," she blurted.

His brow shot up, though his lips twitched in amusement. "Oh? And what face might that be?"

"The one where you've noticed something, and you're waiting to see how it plays out."

"Perhaps." He shrugged. "Or perhaps I'm enjoying a lovely evening with a fascinating elleth."

"You have a different face for that."

"Do I?" He smirked. "And what does that one look like?"

"You'd have to ask Lothuial."

Charlotte laughed as a look of horror consumed his face. His expression quickly morphed, and his eyes glittered at her.

"Wicked little elleth," he murmured. "But you will not distract me. Tell me."

Charlotte bit her lip hard. Some small thing was finally going well, and now… Now she would potentially unravel it. She shoved her plate away, resigning her twisting stomach to wine.

"When I…" Died? Passed out? Hung around in limbo? Already she was hitting roadblocks. How was she supposed to break them like this? "I told you that, when I was with Námo, Varda and Nienna appeared and forced him to release me?"

Thranduil nodded, swirling his wine glass between two pinched fingers. "A rare occurrence indeed, given that Námo is the judge of our fëa."

"Well, they told him…" She closed her eyes. "They said that I was not his. That I belonged to them, both of them." She heard the thunk of Thranduil's goblet as he set it down but did not dare open her eyes, knowing she'd lose her nerve. "Varda said that she _made_ me."

"We had assumed someone had a hand in your transition from a mortal to an elf."

Charlotte's brow furrowed, and she dared a glance at him. He looked utterly unruffled, having not put the pieces together yet. His mouth twisted as he studied her eyes, and his shoulders sagged as he said, "There's more, isn't there?" His eyes stared at the open doors, toward the chamber of stars.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. He was going to walk away. She wouldn't blame him, not after Nemir, but this would be the last blow she could take. "Varda said that, because she made me, my fëa is different. 'Like but unlike.'"

Thranduil was a statue beside her. His hands had long abandoned his wine, and she was certain he hadn't blinked since she'd opened her own eyes.

"And…" she mumbled, "it is 'unstable.'"

"Unstable?" The word whispered across the sudden chasm between them.

Moisture gathered along her lashes, and her throat grew painfully tight. "When I put the elves to sleep that night, I drained my fëa. Should I use too much…"

Thranduil gazed at her in horror. "You would burn yourself out."

She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded, unable to eek the words out. The first hot tear tracked its way down her cheek, and she jerked when she felt a warm hand caress it away. Thranduil had abandoned his seat and kneeled before her, eyes misted with sorrow to match her own.

"You knew this, and you still attempted to heal Galion?"

"Of course." She sucked in her wobbling lip. "He's sick because of me. Even if he weren't, how could I let him suffer? Let Meluieth suffer?"

"As she has allowed you to do?"

Charlotte shook her head and gently placed a hand over his own. "Thranduil, I…" The words overfilled her mouth. She couldn't say them. Not with a giant "but" at the end. Not when her heart was being cracked into pieces. He had so quickly burrowed his way into her incompatible soul. "I know that after Nemir, you said you would never enter into another relationship unless it was a bond. I completely understand. It's alright."

Thranduil sat back on his heels and shook his head, confusion warring in his eyes. "Charlotte? I noticed you were upset about the bonding comment earlier, but we can wait if you're not ready. I have waited millennia; I can wait however long you wish."

"It's not that. Well, it was that, a little. I'm twenty-seven. That's a child in your years. In my world, people don't often get married after a mere month together."

"But some people do?"

"Well… yes… I suppose so." She wiped at her eyes. "But that's not the point. Thranduil, my fëa is different. Different enough that you may not be able to bond with me. I can't ask you to throw that all away."

"I see," he said. She couldn't tell if he was angry or not. His face had been wiped off all traces of emotion. "Come," he ordered, and he was tugging her by her hands.

_This is it_, she thought, blinking back tears as he pulled her from the room, and their once-romantic dinner, the only night they'd ever have, faded behind her. She expected him to escort her out, turning left outside the dining room, but instead, he walked across the hall.

Her feet sank into plush rugs as Thranduil guided her to a settee in front of the crackling fire, and then he quit the room so quickly that she only caught a flash of blonde hair as it whipped around the corner.

Chest aching, she wondered if she should just see herself out. She swore somewhere she heard a clock ticking away, the moment stretching its jaws wide. Where could he have gone? Why? Her mind ranged through the worst conclusions. Most of the elves already called her _Rhudoleth_. She was unwanted here, and she lacked usefulness. Especially now that Thranduil knew she could kill herself trying to heal them all. He was kind and self-sacrificing. It wouldn't be unlike him to send her far away from his realm, for all their sakes. Maybe it would be easier for him if she were to do it herself?

Just as she tensed her muscles to stand, he returned, grasping her hands and pulling her to her feet. "Charlotte." He wrapped his fingers around hers, guiding her palm to settle over his racing heart. "You beautiful, stubborn, compassionate elleth. Remember that I did this first, please." He chuckled nervously, his thumb smoothing across the skin of her hand. "I know that things may be done differently in your time. You seem appalled at our brief acquaintance, but I am an elf. _We _possess a deeper understanding of each other than any mortal will ever attain."

"Thranduil…"

"Please," he pressed her palm harder against his heart, "let me explain. I know now that I should have been clearer. When I said 'bonding,' I meant I wish to be with you. Always. I want us to raise Legolas together. I want to show you the entirety of our realm and worship you in our bed every night. And anywhere else you'll let me have you."

She let out a watery laugh at his smirk.

"I want you crowned and at my side, equals, ruling over our realm." He caressed her cheek with his free hand. "Don't you see? Legolas and I have wandered Middle Earth apart for decades, both of us searching for the same thing."

Charlotte shook her head slowly. "I don't…"

"You." His whisper was reverent. Silver eyes studied her with awe. "Legolas and I have craved family so desperately. You are a part of that. Can't you see it? How we both love you? How you belong with us?"

Charlotte felt her lip quivering, and she bit down to steady herself. This was insane. She was crazy for considering this. For feeling the joyous swooping in her soul at his words. "Shouldn't we know each other better? I've only been here for a month."

"Unveil your fëa," he commanded gently. His thumb stroked her hand at his chest. "Please."

His eyes were so earnest, vast and unyielding. She burrowed into that space that was inherently _her_ and allowed her fëa to burst through the room, casting glittering light along the walls and ceiling. Heat, like a fireball across her skin, exploded around her as Thranduil revealed his own golden fëa, and she marveled as his soul twined through hers, caressing her fëa like a lover.

Thranduil dropped his forehead against hers, panting heavily. "Our fëar allow us to know each other completely. I know the entirety of your soul, as you know mine."

Charlotte scrunched her nose. _Was soul mates enough for a marriage to work?_

"If you want the finer details," he whispered, his voice husky, "like your favorite color is blue, and you don't like roasted rabbit, and your heart breaks every time Legolas cries… we have time for those."

"How did you…?"

"We may not have discussed them, but they're a part of our everyday life. I see the way you glance at Meluieth like you miss her. I know that Haedirn makes you laugh with his audacity, and Maethor is your equal in calmness, and Legolas makes you feel protective. You prefer those tunics to your dresses. You'll choose your boots over the finest slippers, and you prefer your hair just like this." His fingers combed through the loose tresses. "Wild like you. Free. I've watched your heart breaking for my people, even when they didn't understand or respect your pain. Do you think Idhrenes is the only one who knows you bury your hurt and anxiety into baking? Do you think I don't notice that Legolas flocks to you when his heart hurts? That you meet everyone you encounter with compassion and grace? How could I not love an elleth like that?"

When he put it like that, she could see his point. In their time together, she'd witnessed his loyalty to his people, his adoration for his son, his penchant for elegant robes, his love of sweets, the gentle regard he held for Idhrenes, the way he quietly guided and protected Meluieth and Galion; all the things that made him _Thranduil_.

"Marry me. Bond with me," he whispered. "I beg you. Be with me, with Legolas. I'll even let the damn elk sleep inside if you wish."

Charlotte laughed, tears leaking down her face. "I'll hold you to that."

Thranduil opened his mouth, words forming on his lips before he froze. He pulled back, eyes wide with surprise and his face beaming. "Is that a 'yes?'"

She nodded—her throat tight around the words.

His hands cupped her face. Desperate joy stole over his expression. "Please, _meleth nîn_, I need to hear it."

She could see the vulnerability in this moment for him. The wounds Nemir had inflicted were deep and true. "I would be honored to marry you."

His lips crashed down on hers, his hands diving into her hair to pull her closer, and she lost herself in him. The heat of his body scorched her as the light of their fëar burned brighter. The strange urge she'd felt in the forest grew beneath her skin, pushing her, coaxing her to do… something. It surged and crested as his hands slid over her shoulders, down her spine, pulling her against his frame.

"Do you feel that?" He breathed against her ear. She arched her neck and bit down on a moan. "That need," his tongue darted out to lick the hollow beneath her ear, "the yearning coming from your fëa?"

"What is it?"

"We call it _faefelf_."

His feet shuffled them back until he pressed her against the nearest wall, which freed his hands. He instantly sent them roving. She thrust her hips against him, trying to ease the longing she felt ravaging her body, her fëa. His hands were driving her wild.

"It means 'soul impulse' in the Common Tongue, and you would not feel it…"

Joy radiated across her face as she met his eager gaze. "I wouldn't feel it unless our fëa were compatible."

He beamed, running his fingers lovingly through her hair. "Exactly. You are my fëamate, as I am yours, should you choose me."

"You can really bond with me?"

He thrust his hips against her, pinning her to the wall, and arched his back to meet her gaze. "I can, and I will. If you'll have me for the rest of your life?"

She'd been such a fool this whole time. Constantly trying to decide where she belonged: Virginia or Middle Earth, _Imladris_ or _Eryn Galen_. It had never been a matter of _where_ but _with_ _who?_ "I'm only just now realizing," she said, "that I have been homeless for ten years, lifeless. You and Legolas, and Maethor and Haedirn, and Ellavorn. Even Meluieth. You all are my family. Wherever you are is where I belong."

Thranduil swooped in to press his lips to hers but left her hanging when he just as quickly pulled away. His hand dove into his trouser pocket and emerged with a delicate silver ring pinched between his thumb and forefinger. It shone brightly in the light of their fëar, reflecting the gold and silver hues in its twisting band and petite leaves.

"It belonged to my naneth," he explained. "It was her betrothal ring from my adar." He slid the ring onto her right index finger and kissed it.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, touched by the gesture. "It fits perfectly."

"I could claim it's another sign that you belong with us," Thranduil smirked, "but Haedirn had a hand in that. Now," he ghosted his lips along the shell of her ear, "I believe I owe you an anatomy lesson."

She grinned. His revenge would have to wait. "What about Legolas?"

Thranduil good-naturedly sighed. "Would you like to come with me to collect him from Idhrenes? I believe we may have some information of interest to him."

Charlotte couldn't remember feeling so happy in a long time. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to savor this small slice of peace. "Let's go tell him." She was a bit worried about Legolas's earlier outburst. He'd never said if he had an issue against a step-naneth entirely or just Lothuial. Worst case scenario: it would finally eliminate his concerns about the other elleth. But it made Charlotte wonder what would happen when Lothuial realized her wedding planning had been for naught.

* * *

Translations/Notes:

_faefelf_— This is not canon nor is the word itself canon. The word was labeled "fan-created" on one Elvish dictionary I use (Elf-dict), as was the "felf" half of the word. The way it's used here is not canon and is of my own making.

_ gwaethann_— Also not canon, but an original word derived from the Sindarin words for "Bonded" and "Shield" = "Bonded Shield."

Author's Note: Whew! The past two months have been wild: Mr. Novelette gave himself a concussion. Our indoor senior cat went missing for nearly a month after she slipped out the door (turns out she was having an affair with a look-a-like down the street). I took an unapproved journey down my stairs (I do not recommend the in-flight service for this). And then jury duty, which is a massive story of its own, and I wasn't even called in. I don't even think that was all of it and none of those incidents were related. But all's well and whatnot, so here is (FINALLY!) a little bit of (plot-relevant) Thranduil, Charlotte, and Legolas time! If you're still here, thanks for sticking with me through the massively long wait! I promise, the rest of the story is plotted and it's just a matter of putting words to cyber-paper and, of course, editing! Hope you like the newest chapter!


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